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