(So the story begins)
City dweller, successful fella
Thought to himself
Oops I've got alot of money
I'm caught in a rat race terminally
I'm a prefessional cynic
But my hearts not in it
I'm paying the price of living life at the legal limit
Caught up in the centuries anxiety
It preys on him, he's getting thin
Now he lives in a house, a very big house in the country
Watching afternoon repeats
And the food that he eats in the country
He takes all manner of pills
And piles up analyst bills in the country
It's like an animal farm,
Lots of rural charm in the country
Now he's got morning glory, life's a different story
Everything going jackanory
In touch with his own mortality
He's reading balzac, knocking back prozac,
It's a helping hand
That makes you feel wonderfully bland
Oh, it's the centuries remedy for the faint at heart,
A new start
He lives in a house, a very big house in the country
He's got a fog in his chest
Se he needs alot of rest in the country
He doesn't drink smoke laugh
He takes herbal baths in the country
Oh it's like an animal farm
But you'll come to no harm in the country
Blow blow me out I am so sad I don't know why
