Away over in Dixieland,nThey paint dreams on the skynI wish I could be over theren'Fore I run out of timenClimb onto the silver birdnFly up into the, fly up into the skynnAway over in DixielandnThey paint dreams on the skynAnd hey, Quasimodo can understandnThis strange speak in riddles and rhymesnnHow come her hair's all donenLike a freshly ploughed fieldnShe lives over in DixielandnWhere nothing is, where nothing is realnnAway over in DixielandnThey paint dreams the skynAnd hey, Quasimodo can understandnThis strange speak in riddles and rhymesnnAway over in DixielandnThey paint dreams on the skynAnd hey, Quasimodo can understandnThis strange speak in riddles and rhymesnnThere are mountains of broken dreamsnSeed don't grow on the landnMoving pictures we've never seennScenes of sadness we see but we can't understand