Colonial Whore

 Rising before dawn from my warm bed
I should be well use to this by now
Another day in the city for me to dread
A place to avoid if I only knew how
Leaving field and forest, my heart is torn
A job in the city of many peers and much scorn

Hoping to live through another morning drive
With strong convictions and a weary mind
Another day in the city for me to survive
But much rather leave it all far behind
As with each new morning I loath it even more
Williamsburg, an eighteenth century colonial whore

So much well polished gentry, passing me by
As another working day’s end draws near
Early American splendor sells the colonial lie
Brass and fern taverns serving overpriced beer
Pineapple and wreath adorned hardwood doors
Besotted businessmen and imported Russian whores

I have become long drawn too far apart
As this was my home for so many years
Now pimped out, this city breaks my heart
While burning bridges over rivers of tears
Five days a week of leaving only to sadly return
Old home fires extinguished never again to burn

There is no true love steeped in hate
Fond memories should never have to hurt
Standing numb as the greedy bastards venerate
By leveling my old home even with the dirt
A new era old Williamsburg was destine to enter
My beloved Page Street home now a shopping center

A patriotic Mecca for one to show groveling loyalty
Keeping in step and ever mindful of one’s tone
Ever bowing down to pecking order royalty
Is servitude more better than being alone ?
In this blind faith can one ever find peace ?
Bound to serve until death’s shadowy release

In a glorious procession, the local lord arrives
Look how the gathering of good citizens stand in awe
By their blind obedience, his high standing survives
As their lives are ever willed to his law
Naught but so many vessels of wheel shaped clay
To be filled or broken under his powerful sway

That beautiful glade and clear winding stream
Minor’s Market and nights in the Rainbows Inn
Of old times in Williamsburg, I do often dream
Old times that I shall never live to see again
Remembering the spring blossoms smelling so sweet
And midnight walks down Duke of Gloucester Street