The Rich People Across the River
James Monger
Pretty, your country club's pretty
Wasted, we pass your houses wasted, sometimes tingling from the view
From the music in the tape deck
We're romantic, houses gothic
Only you're up there when the sun goes down on your river
Sleepy veranda, clear blue sky
Where the sailboats dance and glide
And you must be tired of something
Because the days just pass you by
Sunday all the clouds are on the water
Slow tobacco and a marigold blaze, your flags are all raised
But you're a lure in a willow tree
You clutter up the scenery, you do
You filled a hole with a mountain
Somewhere the corn grows twice as high
And a scarecrow lifts his eye
In a field you'd never wander
In a land you'd never find
Under a bridge of stone
Where the crayfish grumble
Hides a frightened troll