| I am the small town linesman
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| And you’ll find me out here on the line
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| Searching ceaselessly to simply
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| Find a place I can call mine
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| Every corner of this country
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| Criss-crossed out with coloured lines
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| The city lies before me
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| Another city sprawling out behind
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| I am a frontiersman
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| Trapped in suburban England
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| Since the Scramble ended
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| Since the West was won with wagon trails
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| It seems the Mazzini’s paradisiacal
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| Panopticon prevailed
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| My walkabouts no longer take me
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| Beyond a choice of different gaols
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| Why should I have to choose a state
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| When every one of them has failed?
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| I am a frontiersman
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| Trapped in suburban England
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| And I promise not to overthrow the state
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| If allowed to redraw the atlas before
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| I emigrate
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| So I have sailed the seven seas alone
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| Trying to find a shore I can call home
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| But all I found are different flags
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| Double-speaking diplomats, and
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| I do not have time for that
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| So I’ll declare my own sovereign state
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| The borders based on the
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| Bottoms of my boots
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| And I will open embassies
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| Wherever the hell I please
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| And at assemblies
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| You will see me sat
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| 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
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| Metternich’s alone as long as where
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| I lay my head I can be my very own
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| I am the Winchester lineman
|
| I am a frontiersman
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| Trapped in suburban England
|
| But here I will not remain-
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| I’ll ride into the sunset
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| My horse waits on the plain
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| And I keep walking the line |