You can take your cities

Your cars

Your bars

Your asphalt roads

And tall billboards,

And starless,

Smog-filled skies.

I’ll stick with my small town

My backwoods roads

And grassy hills.

I love my clear blue skies

And quiet summer days

Completely devoid of car-horns

And road rage.

I’d much rather sit under a tree

A fishing-pole in my hands

And my feet in the river

Than being cramped up in a concrete jungle

Moving along the street

In the midst of a thick mass

of people.

None knowing where to go,

like a herd of cattle

off to slaughter.

I'll stick with my backwoods world.