There ought to be a better way of living To find catharsis in these twilight years, But I am no misanthrope, My dreams can give me hope And help to wipe away my tensions and my tears.
So let me lead you now into my dreamworld, A land where vanished wishes can come true. Where life and love and pleasure, And all those things we treasure, Will follow from our final rendezvous.
A land where angels sing glad songs of romance, Where the bells remember chimes they’d long forgot; Where they now forever ring, And with those angels sing, And we at last are happy with our lot.
For my frequent dream is one of youth recurring; A new start in life to live it without pain To eliminate the stress, To start again afresh,
To see if my dreams’ bliss I can attain
But the place where dreams are stored is fast receding, A library of books once felt and read. Now they will never come to life Before they meet the pruning knife, And all those thoughts they bred remain unsaid.