In a tiny tiny southern Swedish country townntwo acres of field and a gas stationnriding on my moped, looking for funnstaring into the blood red sunnnon the country road is a boulevardnwith neon lights and night open barsnin my jacket a pack of playing cardsnjust jacks, jokers, and the queen of heartsnnmy heart is beating, beating like Ringonas I pull into the drive-in bingonnwhy do the people in the country wanna look like the people in the city?nwhen the people in the city aren't the slightest pretty I want the people in the country to wear flannel shirts and saggy jeans all covered in dirtnI want the people in the country to be open and kindnbut most times I've met those with a narrow mindnwith a big black dog to bite your behindnif htey ever find out you're not one of their kindnall these thoughts as I open up a zingonFriday night at the drive-in bingonnso this is what they do out here for fun?nthey play bingo and let their engines run?ntonight's jackpot is a pig, hey that's criminal!nG-42! ooh, I'm going diagonal!nnI'm gonna gather up a few of my friendsnas many fits into an army tentnjust bring our savings and a bottle of wine nto the Friday night's reversal of time!nthis little south-west village shouldn't cost that muchnmaybe a handful of silver or a hundred bucksnwe could have wild wild parties in that big old lodge and the windmill's perfect for movies and suchnwe could fake our deaths to get insurance money and take on hippie namesnI'd be Snowphish, you'd be Sunny, we could start a little farm with little white bunniesnjust cause watching them copulate is very funnynnthere's a cow and an ostrich just waiting for you!na glass of apple cider just waiting for you!nthe smell of 1952 just waiting for you!nand all I'm doing here is just waiting for you...nna daydream, I'm caught up in limbonFriday night at the drive-in bingon