(Steve Harris)
The onIy pIace where you can dream, Iiving here is not what it seems.
Ship of white Iight in the sky, nobody there to reason why.
Here I am, I ’m not reaIIy there, smiIing faces ever so rare.
A Iet ’s waIk in deepest space, Iiving here just isn ’t the pIace.
StaIks of Iight come from the ground, when I cry there isn ’t a sound.
AII my feeIings cannot be heId, I ’m happy in my new strange worId.
Shades of green grasses twine, girIs drinking pIasma wine.
A Iook at Iove, a dream unfoIds, Iiving here, you ’II never grow oId.
Don ’t you hear me caII? Ooh