His memory hasn't faded: it's so clear He can recall what never even happened. Is this imagination? No -- it's more A different home and land. He has a map and He goes there as he can. He needs his family, And they need him, as well. This busy season Is full of light and cold and fantasy And he can have them all, and need no reason. For what is worse: to keep things null and real, Or fill them up with what we'd like to feel?
