After the Rush Hour Million Dead

I am the small town linesman
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
Since the Scramble ended
Since the West was won with wagon trails
It seems the 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