I could sing a serenade
Each line as lithe and lissom as an acrobat
You could sip your lemonade
And lazily survey our ample habitat
Easy is so hard-won
We just long for a patch of warm sun
Nature will know her own
God of simple pleasures
Have some mercy on these two unhappy urbanites
Trade this prose for poetry
The ceiling for a sky of starry satellites
Easy is so hard-won
We just long for a patch of warm sun
Nature will know her own