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Words and music copyright ©2003 by Blake Hodgetts
As a child I used to discuss this place semi-seriously with my mother.
Everybody suspects it,
But harder to see is the proof that we are right.
There is an exit,
A way to part from this plane,
If you don’t want to remain.
Somewhere there’s a door,
And I’m searching for
I want to know where the lost things go.
I want to see for myself.
Is there a place somewhere outside space?
Just show me the way!
It’s got to be better than spending your life on the shelf.
They go when nobody's watching,
Slip through the portal and vanish from mortal sight.
It's no use searching:
Until they mean to be found,
You never will run them to ground.
Where no eye can see,
How I long to be
I want to know where the lost things go;
I've always thought it was real,
I'll find a way to get there someday.
It's not hard to see,
There’s got to be someplace where you can pursue your ideal.
There’s lots of socks and underwear and car keys,
The caps of felt-tip pens and bathing suits and coats.
There’s scissors, and small utensils,
Library books and videos and stamps and checkbooks and important Post-It notes.
There’s lots of pencils, and ballpoint pens, and thousands of erasers,
Earrings, and reading glasses,
Chessmen and puzzle pieces,
And pennies, and quarters, golf balls, tennis balls,
Playing cards, baby teeth, barrettes and Barbie shoes…
Some go just for a visit,
Off on a lark, reappearing by dark of night.
Not too much, is it,
To ask how they found their way there,
Just vanished away into air?
When they go astray
And return, I say,
I want to go!
I want it so!
I want to know where the lost things go:
Won't you please show me the way?
Go there once more as you did before,
And take me with you.
I've got to discover, whatever the cost,
That magical threshold I never have crossed,
For I could be found if I'd only get lost
For a day…
Just one day…