there is a road that meets the road    that goes to my house    and how it green grows there    and we've got special boots    to beat the path to my house    and it's careful and it's careful when i'm there       and i say your uncle was a crooked french canadian    and he was gut-shot, runnin gin    and how his guts were all suspended in his fingers    and how he held 'em    how he held 'em, held 'em in       and the water rolls down the drain    the water rolls down the drain   o what a lonely thing! in a lonely drain!       july, july, july! never seemed so strange       this is the story of the road that goes to my house    and what ghosts there do remain    and all the troughs that run the length and breadth of my house    and the chickens how they rattle chicken chains       and we'll remember this when we are old and ancient    though the specifics might be vague    and i'll say your camisole was a sprightly light magenta    when in fact it was a nappy blueish grey       and the water rolls down the drain    the blood rolls down the drain    oh what a lonely thing    in a blood red drain       july, july, july! it never seemed so strange