I am the small town lineman, and you'll find me out here on the line,
Searching ceaselessly to simply find a place I can call mine.
Every corner of this country criss-crossed out with coloured lines,
The city lies before me, another city sprawling out behind.
I am a frontiersman,
Trapped in suburban England.
And since the Scramble ended, since the West was won on wagon trails,
It seems Mazzini's paradisiacal panopticon prevailed.
My walkabouts no longer take me beyond a choice of different gaols.
Why should I have to choose a state when every one of them has failed?
I am a frontiersman, trapped in suburban England.
And I promise not to overthrow the state
If allowed to redraw the atlas before I emigrate.
So I have sailed the seven seas alone,
Trying to find a shore I can call home,
But all I found are different flags,
Double-speaking diplomats,
And I do not have time for that.
So I'll declare my own sovereign state,
The borders based on the bottoms of my boots,
And I will open embassies wherever the hell I please,
And at assemblies you will see me sat but never on my knees.
I am a frontiersman, trapped in suburban England.
And I promise not to overthrow the state
If allowed to redraw the atlas before I emigrate.
And I'd gladly leave your Metternich's alone
As long as where I lay my head I can be my very own.
I am the Winchester lineman
I am a frontiersman,
Trapped in suburban England,
But here I will not remain
I'll ride into the sunset,
My horse waits on the plain.
And I keep walking the line.