I want to tell you a tale
of the Land of the Flying Sharks
In this magical land there is an old tree
that reaches into the sky
The one that stands at the foot of this tree
feels tiny and small like a louse
If they would carefully look through the branches
they could see a tiny house
In that tiny house up in the branches
lives a gray old man
Day and night he fills up the skies
with the sharks that fly around
When the sharks get bleached by the heat of the sun
they briefly land on the sand
Then all the children of this magical land
colour them again
