They Only Move

They only move who travel far,

So whisk me off down roads unsigned

And take me where the good times are.

Whizz past the dance-hall and the bar;

All muffled contact must be blind.

They only move who travel far.

Bortsch, pâté, filthy caviare,

Say I’ve respectfully declined,

And take me where the good times are.

The social round – Martell, cigar,

Talk about talk – is social grind;

They only move who travel far.

Install me dozing in the car,

Wined, dined, but still unconcubined,

And take me where the good times are.

Lush pastures of the cinema

Will be demanded, once defined.

They only move who travel far.

Fear-indigestion, guilt-catarrh –

If these exist, leave them behind

And take me where the good times are.

Tell me, will movement make or mar?

Then root my body, tell my mind

They only move who travel far

And take me where the good times are.