Stainbeck Road, Pt. 3

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Rhode Island

Rhode Island ( (listen), like road), officially the State of Rhode Island, is a state in the New England region of the Northeastern United States. It is the smallest U.S. state by area and the seventh-least populous, with slightly fewer than 1.1 million residents as of 2020, but it is the second-most densely populated behind New Jersey. The state takes its name from the eponymous island, though most of its land area is on the mainland. Rhode Island borders Connecticut to the west, Massachusetts to the north and east, and the Atlantic Ocean to the south via Rhode Island Sound and Block Island Sound; it also shares a small maritime border with New York. Providence is the state capital and most populous city. Native Americans lived around Narragansett Bay for th… more »

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Take me to my caravan, I'll make you understand 
Possession of a floor, I want a metre more
So tell me how we can strike a deal for Babel in my garden
The blueprints of my stardom
Its lifted up my eyes to silver skies 
And suicidal cries of empty lives
Build a fence, build a wall, I'll draw a line and f*ck em all

The committee has spoken, I'm broken, there's no one left to buy
There was no illusion, it was just collusion
I have Home Owner's Rights
My feet drag on new grass where once was plexi-glass
They cut me down to size, a single metre high
I see those silver skies with tired eyes 
And think of all the years that I have lied
Build a fence, build a wall, I'll draw a line and f*ck em all

And the plagues and the witches gave way to slum and cholera, iniquitous dives, crooked crannies
Until an idea announced itself, loudly, rudely: start again
And so by railway, motorway, bus station, flyover and intersection, land was reclaimed
Polders; furious levelling; bolstering; scaffolding
Stainless steel exoskeleton; concrete flesh; mod-cons; homes and city living
A forced first elbow towards community
Life breathed listlessly into the fresh plaster until condensation ate everything, like acid
Walls crumbled, leaves marched towards the front door
The calls for assault ever-strong, a general's cry: no mercy 
Until an idea announced itself, louder, ruder: start again
And so by railway, motorway, bus station, flyover and intersection
City loop, police HQ, market square, culvert spa
It sits calmly, stoically, demonstrably, the eloquence in well planned irony
The Offices of Social Security.

The bubble burst, the realtors cried
A libertarian lived and died
Above his grave the stone did read: 
I OWNED THIS LAND BUT NOW IT OWNS ME

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