Off we go to far away dreams
On small trains made of mystery
Packed up in bags without seams
The answers from my own history
It deals out promises of sun kissed days
And many other gifts floating down as rays
You only see a pile of possessions
None of true importance at all
As valuable as empty old tins
But such foolery will only be your fall
When you pack for paradise and all is said and done
The preparations are truly half of the fun
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