I recall when I was small
how I spent my days alone.
The busy world was not for me
so I went and found my own.
I would climb the garden wall
with a candle in my hand.
I'd hide inside a hall of rock and sand.
On the stone, an ancient hand,
in a faded yellow-green,
made alive a worldly wonder
often told but never seen.
Now and ever bound to labor
on the sea and in the sky,
every man and beast appeared
a friend as real as I.
Before the fall
when they wrote it on the wall,
when there wasn't even any Hollywood
they heard the call
and they wrote it on the wall
for you and me, we understood.
Can it be this sad design,
could be the very same?
A wooly man without a face
and a beast without a name.
Nothin' here but history,
can you see what has been done?
Memory rush over me,
now I step into the sun.
Before the fall
when they wrote it on the wall,
when there wasn't even any Hollywood
they heard the call
and they wrote it on the wall
for you and me, we understood.