Castles Of Silt And Sand

They hid all of Main Street away in a parking lot,
Then built a new mall where the coffee goes stale in the pot,
The rent-a-cops say, "You can't do this, don't do that;"
The old folks don't stay long enough there to take off their hats.

The spin doctor says, "It's not us, it's the way it was built,
It's ornate and it's pretty, but the castle is built upon silt,
That's why there's no running, or jumping, or just having fun,
You'll have to play quietly until the repairs are all done."

So folks wander off in a void of recalling what was,
The few that remain, in perpetual fear of the fuzz.
Just then a friend from back in the day happens by,
Who says, "There's a place; the folks might could give it a try."

It's just down the street -  the air there is not quite as stuffy,
The powers that be are not quite so huffy and puffy,
It's ornate and it's pretty, and the castle is built upon sand,
But the coffee is fresh; the barristas do not like it bland.