A stranger in my own land

I feel like a stranger.
Living in a strange land.

Yet, I was born and raised
Amongst the English Greens.
I even sang Jerusalem
Although not knowing what it means.

But I mowed my lawn
And I trimmed my hedge.
I read Cider with Rosie
Up on Stinchcombe Edge.

I even played Cricket
All dressed in white,
I celebrated The Ashes
And drank beer all that night.

Then I read of a road, in a yellow wood,
And I sailed on the uneasy sea.
I shopped in markets, noisy and bright
I learned to say, ‘Merci’.

I sipped black coffee, from a petite cup.
I drank wine at pavement bars.
I ordered ‘pain et fromage’ with a bad accent
Then slept beneath those golden stars.

I travelled so far!
So open, so free!
Just The Hitch Hikers guide
A rucksack and me.

But the language changed and
They blamed it on you,
I didn’t believe it,
It couldn’t be true.

Now, I’m living in this place
And it’s been built on sand.
And I feel like a stranger
Living in a strange land.