Felipé’s House

(to the tune of ‘The Black Velvet Band’)

Way up in the old Atacamey
Where the nights are so fearfully chill
There’s a house made of wood and adobe
It belongs to Felipė or Phil

The road to the house is so thorny
It scratches your car as you go
And the lock on the door I must warn ye
Is a bugger to turn to and fro

Inside it ain’t nowt to write home of
The furniture’s seen better days
But there’s plenty of space to spread out in
And the Internet happily plays

There’s a telly that speaks only Spanish
And water that’s hot and then cold
And the worst thing’s the note by the toilet
‘No paper down here!’ you are told

Now that is a bit of a poser
That will have you scratching your head
But Pre-Columbian folk had no paper
Aye, and just look at them, they’re all dead!

No matter we’ll cook us our dinner
And laugh at the cold Chile night
Oops! The cooker’s been flooded with water
It gurgles and then it won’t light

But the sun rises up in the morning
And shines in a sky of azure
And the chambermaid lady who calls you
Is the mountain called Licancabur

Then the wind blows up on the desert
And the mountains are hidden by dust
If you walk out you’re hot and your eyes hurt
You’re dry with a terrible thirst

Perfect timing! We put on our dinner
And the gas runs out just as we do
And the microwave can’t be our rescue
‘Cos the power it has gone AWOL too

But Jany comes over to help us
Whose ancestors lived in the hills
And she and her hubby are canny
Handy people who cure all our ills

And we’ve millions of stars as a ceiling
That live in the far Southern sky
And the Milky Way’s glowing bandana
Arches sparkling and glorious on high

And the hiccups and hassle all vanish
And the problems and grumps fade away
And the blazing night sky of the desert
Takes you out of yourself and away