The moon is spun from knitted wool... or so the whistle sighs. A world of steam and metal lids... where ancient wisdom lies. The narrator... in velvet tones... explains the strange and new, While creatures clad in rose-hued fur... prepare a secret brew. The grass was green... or so it seemed... a moment just before, But now the meadow breathes in time... beneath the parlour floor. Oh, step within the costume shop... and change your very soul, Step through the hidden doorway now... to play a different role. The Pink Elephants are marching on... through garden paths and tea, The magic lives within the mist... of things we choose to see. Whistle once for wonder... whistle twice to reach the "High," Within the cosmic theatre... beneath a paper sky. The masters sat in hazy rooms... with charcoal, lead, and clay, They conjured worlds from sugar cubes... to pass the time of day. Was it mushrooms? Was it genius? Or a tilt of Saturn’s ring? That made a painted wooden man... a truly vital thing. The silent hound is focused now... with clockwork, iron hand, While we are drifting slowly through... a shifting, woolly land. Oh, step within the costume shop... and change your very soul, Step through the hidden doorway now... to play a different role. The Pink Elephants are marching on... through garden paths and tea, The magic lives within the mist... of things we choose to see. Whistle once for wonder... whistle twice to reach the "High," Within the cosmic theatre... beneath a paper sky. The dragon breathing emerald soup... is sleeping now and tight. The circus tent is folded up... in the middle of the night. We’ve learned the lesson well, my friends... through whistle and through song, That reality is only "right"... when the tea is brewed too strong. So keep the woolly jumpers close... and keep the biscuits near, There’s nothing in the madness now... for my friend to fear. Whistle... Whistle... Everything is stitched... Perfectly... Goodnight. Goodnight.
