Paroles: Blur. Country House.

(So the story begins)
City dweller
Successful fella
Thought to himself:
"Oops, I've got a lot of money
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"

Yes, it preys on him
He's getting thin
(Try the simple life)

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
Oh, it's like an animal farm
That's the rural charm
In the country

He's got morning glory and life's a different story
Everything's going Jackanory
Touched 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 a century's remedy
For the faint at heart
A new start
(Try the simple life)

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
Takes herbal baths
In the country
You should come to no harm
On the animal farm
In the country

(Blow, blow me out, I am so sad, I don't know why)