Finland, Finland, Finland
The country where I want to be
Pony trekking or camping
Or just watching TV
Finland, Finland, Finland
It’s the country for me
You’re so near to Russia
So far from Japan
Quite a long way from Cairo
Lots of miles from Vietnam
Way out West there was this fella — fella I wanna tell ya about. Fella by the name of Sir Digby Chicken Caesar. At least that was the handle his loving parents gave him, but he never had much use for it himself. Sir Digby Chicken Caesar, he called himself Sir Digby Chicken Caesar. Now, Sir Digby Chicken Caesar— he didn’t make a whole lot of sense. And a lot about where he lived, likewise.
Have you got any rat poison? What sort? What’s it made of, what’s it do, why do they die? I mean, could it kill a pet? A rather large pet? A sort of, almost, person-sized pet. What would it do, to say, a 50-year-old woman? Would it dissolve her stomach and make her lungs bleed until she drowned? Could it be detected in casserole? What would it do to the face? Would it be hideously contorted? What would it do to this face? …
Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the western spiral arm of the Galaxy lies a small unregarded yellow sun. Orbiting this at a distance of roughly ninety-two million miles is an utterly insignificant little blue green planet whose ape-descended life forms are so amazingly primitive that they still think digital watches are a pretty neat idea.