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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