Let me take you down
'Cause I'm going to Strawberry Fields
Nothing is real
And nothing to get hung about
Strawberry Fields forever
Living is easy with eyes closed
Misunderstanding all you see
It's getting hard to be someone
But it all works out
It doesn't matter much to me
Let me take you down
'Cause I'm going to Strawberry Fields
Nothing is real
And nothing to get hung about
Strawberry Fields forever
No one I think is in my tree
I mean, it must be high or low
That is, you know, you can't tune it
But it's all right
That is, I think it's not too bad
Let me take you down
'Cause I'm going to Strawberry Fields
Nothing is real
And nothing to get hung about
Strawberry Fields forever
Always know sometimes it's me
But you know I know when it's a dream
I think I know I mean a "yes"
But it's all wrong
That is, I think I disagree
Let me take you down
'Cause I'm going to Strawberry Fields
Nothing is real
And nothing to get hung about
Strawberry Fields forever
Strawberry Fields forever
~ John Lennon
Fifty years ago today, the Beatles' album Magical Mystery Tour was released. Fifty years! That's about as trippy as this song! Back in February, one of my readers asked me to do a post on a song from MMT, and I chose "The Fool on the Hill," which seemed eerily appropriate to the temporary occupant of the white house on The Hill. So, Ron, here's another one for you!
As many of you probably already know, "Strawberry Fields" was the name of a Salvation Army orphanage near where Lennon lived with his Aunt Mimi in Liverpool. He liked going there to play with the young residents of the home. In his adult life, he donated large sums of money to the home, as did Yoko after Lennon's death. Although the home closed in 2005, the name lives on in Central Park across the street from the Dakota, the hotel where Lennon lived in New York City until his death on December 8, 1980.
My favorite line? Nothing is real. It seems that I reflect upon that line often these days, trying to convince myself of its truth. Unfortunately, when breaking news offers one tragedy after another more than ever before (or so it seems), I recognize that I am trying to find my own strawberry fields in which to exist. A dreamland. But you know I know when it's a dream.
Last year, a close friend went to register his newly acquired car. The plates bore the letters "NIR." It didn't take me long to offer "Nothing Is Real" as a way to remember the plate. I'm very jealous, as my plates say "EHM," which I could only think of as "Everybody Hates Me."
But it doesn't matter much to me.
Strawberry fields forever!
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