The Rural Blues
Let's go and lie down on the village green
And contemplate the rural scene
And listen to the songs of the birds of the sky
And the forty-ton lorries rumbling by.
Let's take a walk in the Kentish Weald
And rest our bodies in a lonely field
Where we could whisper words of love
If it weren't for the aircraft roaring up above.
Let's go on a trip to the coast for a day
And find ourselves a secluded bay
And frolic in the sea where the breakers boil
And get ourselves covered in sticky black oil.
Let's wander off to explore the wood
Up on the hill where the air is good
And if we enjoy it we can come again
To find the trees all dead from the acid rain.
And if that's not enough there's the farmer too
Out and about with his deadly brew
Killing the weeds and every other pest
Including himself along with the rest.
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