The real people aren't here anymore
They've been trapped into unconscious field
Of desperate illusions and they're fighting for
Made up ideas that for them seem real

This old player we used to watch our movies on
The sound of childhood in the music of a riot
Cold water in a glass with sugar at the bottom
And fragile life burned in eternal fire

Where is my island with the highest trees
The one with dancing people and beautiful land
Where as a child I always watched the crystals
Beside you lying on the lukewarm sand