Seems like a dream, I’m riding in this car
He’s kind; he’s bright ; he likes to drive and chat.
We’re intellectuals; ha ha ha ha ha!
I wonder if the house is very far.
I’m happy not to map read; I sit back
In my dream, I’m cosy in this car
The motorway is salted, frost to clear.
In the fields, looks like they’ve emptied sacks.
The cars spin round; so merry, like a fair.
I like the softened meadows’ silver stare
M25, I thought I’d not be going back
In my dream, I’m flying but to where?
This frosted grass has beauty debonair
Once stubble used to burn and make skies black
Crossing Essex, flames would fill the air.
The dear child sits behind me, tra la la!
I like his magic and the way his marbles clack.
He likes to hear me humming, fah la la
Oh, how he drives well in the fierce sun glare.
He never swears nor shouts; he brings good luck
The sun lights boldly trees with branches bare.
I feel relaxed, enjoy the comfy car.
His little boy asks, Daddy is it far?