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).