Way over there.
Past the woods
And the lake,
And the city
And the farmland,
Through the desert
And over the ocean,
Lay a hill.
A single, solitary hill.
With luscious grass,
And smell-good flowers.
Not a weed in sight,
Not a hole in the dirt,
No mole digs it's tunnel,
And no bug eats away.
But on this hill,
This one single hill,
Lay a house.
A clean, well-kept,
Deserted house.
No foot has set foot in it,
No hand has laid hands on it,
No mouse over it's floors,
Not a spider builds it's web,And no fly flies around.
Only the wind,
Blows freely and happily
Through this house,
And over this hill,
This one single hill.
