The flowers are my cattle and the bees are my hired men.

Do ye see 'em milkin' this big herd o' apple-blossoms?
My hired men carry their milk away to the hollow trees and churn it into honey.

There's towers and towers of it in the land o' Nowhere.

If it wasn't for Nowhere your country would be as dark as a pocket and as dry as dust--sure it would.

Somewhere must be next to Nowhere--or it wouldn't be anywhere, I'm thinkin'.