.This is the OzI've come to know,the one in my brainbeneath six feet of snow.The one that smellslike burnt raw umber,that rumbles like sewageand woke me from slumber.From a place in my past,where I've sat down and wept.From a deep, dark cornerwhere all my secrets are kept.And I feel more alivewith every secret I tell,I'm not lion,nor Miss Dorothy as well.Nor am I the Tinmanas I take another ganderat the rivers below methat slowly meander.Through the bowels of a citythat's there just because.It bleeds in my dreams,this place I call Oz.From the moment I woke upwhen my feet hit the gravel,I chose the high road;this brick road that I travel.Is this the partwhere I click my heels?Because you really, really don'tknow how this feels.It all came to meon a mid-winter's night,while a city that sleptwas all covered in white.Tap, tap, tap. . .it rapped on in my dreams.Oh! the slamming of windows,the millions of screams.I feel I've slept a thousand years,wrapped in wrong, circled with flaws.A mere hallucination,then I saw the sign:Hey everybody-Welcome to Oz!
