Dixieland

Away over in Dixieland,

They paint dreams on the sky.

I wish I could be over there,

‘Fore I run out of time,

Climb onto the silver bird,

Fly up into the – fly up into the sky.

Away – over in Dixieland,

They paint dreams on the sky,

And hey! Quasimodo can understand,

This strange speak – in riddles and rhymes.

How come her hairs all done,

Like a freshly ploughed field,

She lives over in Dixieland,

Where nothing is – where nothing is real.

Away – over in Dixieland,

They paint dreams the sky,

And hey! Quasimodo can understand,

This strange speak – in riddles and rhymes.

Away – over in Dixieland,

They paint dreams on the sky,

And hey! Quasimodo can understand,

This strange speak in riddles and rhymes.

There are mountains of broken dreams,

Seed don’t grow on the land,

Moving pictures we’ve never seen,

Scenes of sadness we see but we can’t understand.

written by: R.Clapton

publisher: Orient Pacific Music