I've got a little cottage on the very edge of town
where the bricks and slates give way to fields of green
and every lovely morning I look up the street and down
to celebrate this cosy little scene
But this morning as I'm looking, something causes me to frown
The view is not what it has always been
Though I've never checked the distance from the country to the town
I think there's fewer houses in-between
If there are are a couple missing from the far end of the road
and the gap 'tween town and grass remains the same
then the hills have gotten closer to my own humble abode
and eaten up the houses as they came
Now I count the little houses every morning as I wake
No more have disappeared from view so far
But at the smallest tremble of a house eating earthquake...
My bag is packed and waiting in my car