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
[Chorus] In the summer In the small town where you stay You're a bluebird In a broken-down cafe 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