Constance in her back bedroom,
Sniffing at her sweet perfume,
Lives an easy sheltered life,
Free of poverty and strife.

Wallowing in the pettiness
Of stylishness and ways of dress,
Seems by now she would have seen,
She’s lived too long in magazines.

Be prepared
I’m getting scared
I might run away
Any old day

If this keeps up
I might give up
I’ll dump this load
And hit the road

The road will wind
Somehow I’ll find
A way to get out
Without a doubt

Come what may
Will come the day
The struggle will end
Around the bend