Soffia, spegnimi, sono così triste, non so perchè (Country House).
Copyright Heath Smith
(And so the story begins)
City dweller, successful fella
Thought to himself
Oops I’ve got a lot of money
I’m caught in a rat race terminally
I’m a professional cynic
But my heart’s not in it
I’m paying the price of living life at the limit
Caught up in the century’s 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 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, and 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 century’s 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
So he needs a lot 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.
Blur, Country House
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