MAN:
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
It's 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** them 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 gra** where once was plexi-gla**
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** them all.
NARRATOR:
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 a**ault 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, colvert 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"