An appeal to free people

I’ve told you once,
A dozen times,
You must get out of this place;
There’s nothing here
For one as you,
A shrewd purveyor of taste.
Love it has left you
Alone, and bereft too,
A hollow persuasion of man;
So what’s the point
In hanging round
This fallen land?
With nowhere to work
And nothing to learn.
So take you off
To another shore, another shore;
With nowhere to work,
No one to talk to,
No disturbances,
No people.