The city of Atlantis is wide and real The streetlights still work, and the bells still peal Homes under domes of high-pressure glass Seated on lawns of green water grass You try to make out the sounds with no luck So you turn the radio dial in your truck The town hall meetings are opened with song The citizens all willingly sing along Drowned in the sound of the saddest refrains The mayor conveys her most intimate pain You see her lips move, but you can't hear her speak So your mind wanders back to the slow oil leak CHORUS Ophelia with seaweed in her tangled hair Travel or unravel- she will follow you there Open your gates, O, dear hidden Atlantis I can't smell the rose, but I know where the plant is