There's a land that dwells so far away
That no on man will ever be able to return
With the feeling that he had when he could play.

The land lies in the deep crevices of his mind
And it dwells in buried caverns so far below
That he will never find it 'cause it's impossible to find.

This land was invented in the youthful days of old,
When playing in the fields was nothing too strange
Because children didn't care what they were told.

This place is covered in a thick and misty shroud
That is as impenetrable as the concrete walls of a prison
For he has left so he can join the crowd
Of others who no longer hold their youthful position.

But if one man could take the wrecking ball of the present
And turn it into a useful and joyful tool,
Then he could bust down that concrete barricade that we all resent
And unlock the joyful fantasies that made us a jolly fool.

The secret is that the deep and covert land is called our memory,
And the wrecking ball is that most painful and happy weapon called nostalgia.