I know of a spot where time has forgot,
Boulevards are airy, taken with Chablis,
Lawns are like meadows, spongy like dough,
The sun burns mushrooms into candy plums,
Gives way to the moon, tonight so maroon,
A gentle wind puffs, and thinks its hot stuff

This place that I know, everyone's called Joe,
Streets are full of gin and we are all twins,
Its a magic place, where clocks have no face,
Here everything's free; just ask the fir tree,
Where there are no fights, for everyone's right,
I can have winter, you can have summer.

We have no homes, we have whispering domes,
Everywhere we go, Angels are our beaux's,
They are serene and their names are Jean,
And we play hopscotch as the pixie's watch,
A cheerful place, full of charm and grace,
We're not Camelot, gone with a head shot.