by Nick Gisburne
The road divides the guilty from the good
And on this highway let there be no doubt
Intolerance is clearly understood
As those who tread its path are driven out
Whatever else these stones were meant to be
They surely were not seated here in hate
A welcome to the city, from the sea
For strangers, friends, afforded equal weight
The road forgets the fortune of those days
It carries only scorn and spite and pride
A witness to a thousand wicked ways
The love for change, for difference, has died
When all is dust and dirt and drab decay
Remember what the road has drained away
