I'm not going mad, I'm not going mad
I'm not going mad, I'm not going mad
This is the typical day
I'm not living here, honest
I'm a traveling salesman
I'm gonna leave tomorrow, really
It's an unimpeachable summer dream
To fall in love with the ice machine
In the corner of the pub across the street
And working spends if working does
But nowadays it's them or us
Which means that someone has to face the heat
Hey, hey, hey
Who writes the soundtrack?
Lend us a pound coin
Who writes the play?
It's a loudmouth summer sun
Which tells you good is on the run
And the golden age is not the present one
In the summer
In the small town where you stay
You're a bluebird
In a broken-down café
For a day
Those crazy kids, what will they do?
They're not a bit like me and you
With that crypto-punky-psychobilly beat
Hit
They took your sacred rock and roll
They stripped it down and they left a hole
Then they filled it up with anger from the street
Hey, hey, hey, hey
Mutant beat freaks, hah!
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa
So far away
A day in the country
Is not on the menu
For anyone you've met today
In the summer
In the small town where you stay
You're a bluebird
In a broken-down café
For a day
In the summer
In the small town where you stay
You're a bluebird
In a broken-down café
In the summer
In the small town where you stay
You're a bluebird
In a broken-down café
For a day
