In Lalaland parents die in their sleep without pain or warnings.
In Lalaland they don’t forget how to get dressed or where they live.
They don’t cough pieces of their lungs or wheeze gasping for air
That trickles oxygen to their brain.
In Lalaland they die with dignity, remaining to the end the person they were at their best.
In Lalaland eucalyptus shoots of deep madder are like flowers swaying in the breeze
And not brushes drenched in blood vituperating at the sky.
In Lalaland the sun always shines and caresses
Never scorches or leaves the earth parched and exhausted.
In Lalaland no one ever leaves because they have to,
No one is ever lost or without a hand to hold.
In Lalaland, rivers flow deep and safe, tides bring in treasures, love blossoms
And overflows like well watered petunias.
In Lalaland it’s summer time and the living is easy
The answer is forty-two and we know the question.