I should be out in the green fields
With the sun or the wind on my face.
Not stuck in front of a grey screen
Get me out of this place!
I was made for the outside,
Not for an office chair,
Plunge me a spade in good soil;
Release me, take me there!
Preserve me from office murmer
I long for the song of the birds.
This is no way to labour
I desperately need fresh air.
Dress me up in rough clothes;
A good pair of boots and a hat
I wasn't made for an office suit
Had more than enough of that.
Pack me off, I'm an old man
Leave me to root in the soil
I wasn't made for this soft handed life
I want to get out there and toil.
I feel such a sense of connection
Finger deep in good soil
I wasn't made for a chair bound life,
Don't want to be here at all.