Procol Harum. Barnyard Story. Zeneszám

Chicken in the farmyard, there's an oven in your bin
You're growing old with sorrow, you're growing fat with sin
I was living in the graveyard, I was hanging from the wall
I was living in the desert, I was trying not to fall
Once I stood upon Olympus, then the heavens opened wide
I beheld that flaming chariot and I saw the sacred bride
Now and then my life seems truer, now and then my life seems pure
All in all, my thoughts are fewer - maybe death will be my cure