We have our safe Little Big Country
Full of sparkling rivers and potatoes
And high high walls protecting us
There is nothing to fear
In our Little Big Country

Rats CANNOT scurry through the cracks
Crows and bugs and bats
CANNOT fly over
Our high high walls protecting us

For those of us that dwell within
We have our picket fence and gardens
Our lines, and those who toe outside
Pushed gently back in
And for THEM, it's all
fire and blood and rage
streaks or pain and deep plummets
down into the gut of them
But THEY still want their picket fence
and their high high walls protecting them

OUR sparkling rivers and potatoes
will not shatter and burn
OUR people will not sabotage us
OUR people like their
Little Big Country

For those who do,
oh those that do-
There are little boxes and electric chairs
Pointy needles and the like
It's all warm and safe and fuzzy here
under the safety blanket
of our deep voiced, suit wearing
Little Big Country

Until today, like cold water and hitting us
(That is, our generation)
For the very first time
Shell-shocking us in our spheres

Because the truth of it is
The picket fence is chipping white
The potatoes have all gone for
mean old grandfather time
keeps us all in check
And our once sparkling rivers are polluted with our excess tears
There are not blanks
In these celebratory cannons

The high high walls are crumbling
But our Big Little World
continues
to
spin