How I long to be, in the arms of the golden country

Against all the odds, wild flowers grow
Juxtaposed beside the tired urban road
I do not wish to hail from where we bear such heavy loads
Stifled by life's constant tripe
A world of snarls and sneers and snipes
Oh, how I long to be, in the arms of the golden country

The dazzling sights of the chaotic night
Frolicking around in such social splendour
The twinkling lights and parasites glowing like a dying ember
Judges here and critiques there
A world without spine, all born from those who claim to be fair

I'd sooner scale the plains of all that's pure and true
With time so still, there's nothing left to rue
Cleansed by the deafening quiet that is
Far from the rabble and riot that hems you in

In awe of silent paths, led by ancient trees
Fey wings flutter by, carried on the summer breeze
Oh, how I ache to be, wrapped in the charm of a quaint old English dream

And as I sit I wonder; will I ever slip from the grip that is intent on pushing me under?
At speeds so unnatural where only the bad can thrive
But, the last refuge awaits with open arms
An ethereal tale of history, at last, I have arrived