Let’s get going, the lights are harsh, over there, look, check out all those pics
At the chemical plant crates of geraniums, deer in the rape fields, ears pricked
In a sidecar a side of ham, garden gnomes in the mason’s yard, poplar trees
Lorries parked by the access road, and over the hills come the cans of beans.
Circus tent on the industrial estate, a blonde woman brushing the lama’s coat.
The clown’s bleeding, the patrol’s heading over, the fire-eater’s pushing candy floss down his throat
Up on the billboard a grave-looking grown-up, cottony clouds on his frowning brow: Vote for me!
Lalalala- lalalalalala, lalala- lala – You cute little bumpkins, come and see!
the train to Tiszalök might just wait
the karma jam bubbles and thickens at a rate
my sweet chick
you stare out the window, let in the breeze
where it’s taking you, you just can’t believe,
nor what you see in the pics
– nor what you see in the pics
The banner snaps and flaps in the breeze: Lower Eden, come pick-your-own
Red plastic bowl, puli dog on a chain, outside the Land Registry a Fiat cabrio
On an old pram’s frame a heron tall and grey, it’s drawing its pension and won’t fly away
In the thicket an Ikea mattress decays, a complex life – cut with the plain
Your forehead pressed against the cold glass, don’t say a word, just watch the pics
Working girls rest by the fast-food shacks, outside, a beetle steps over sticks
The bunny is cunning and carries a gun, on the road to Damascus the traffic is stuck
A branch goes crack, a huge apple drops, watch out baby Newton, you’d better duck!
the train to Tiszalök might just wait
the karma jam bubbles and thickens at a rate
my sweet chick
you stare out the window, let in the breeze
where it’s taking you, you just can’t believe
nor what you see in the pics
– nor what you see in the pics
Let’s get going, the lights are harsh, over there, look, check out all those pics
There in the coupe the man with the mustache unwraps his meat sandwich, gives it a lick
His lips are moving, he’s shouting something, “Góliáth Dávid, there’s no such name”
an old lady rips the shrink wrap from the Bible and loudly refutes this claim
the train to Tiszalök might just wait
the karma jam bubbles and thickens at a rate
my sweet chick
you stare out the window, let in the breeze
where it’s taking you, you just can’t believe,
nor what you see in the pics
– nor what you see in the pics