On the sunlit island of Long-ago-In the valley of Used-to-be,There were three good friends that I used to knowWho have wandered away from me.
One was buried when life was young-His grave is far from me;And one I lost by a slandering tongue,And one crossed over the sea.
And now as I sit in my room alone,They live in my memory;And I wonder if any that I have knownDo ever remember me.
But one passed over the river of death,And one crossed over the sea,And one I lost by a venomous breath-And all have forgotten me.