A country that does not exist, except in people's mind,
is the kind of country to which I could be aligned.
No taxes and no bureaucrats; now wouldn't that be ducky.
Just wine-tasting and gourmet meals -- those citizens sure are lucky!
I wish I had a passport to this little Ruritania,
to escape all politics and other foolish mania.
But with my luck if make-believe is where I could retire,
I'd wind up in Fredonia with Groucho as the Squire.
I'd have to deal with Harpo and Trentino's silly plots,
which tie up the economy into confusing knots.
I guess the grass ain't greener across any other border;
with Uncle Sam and Donald Trump I still get nuts to order . . .
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