.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!

She shunned him—hung upwhen heI'd call.
His broken heart cried, End it all!'
On a dock's edge, above the ocean
He stood and drank a poisoned potion.
Then looped a noose around his head,
And with one shot shot himself dead.

Or would have, but he missed his head
And shot th noose loop loose instead,
Then, falling, gulped the salty ocean,
Which made him puke the poisned potion.
Swimming ashore, he blamed himself
Becaause he could not slay nimself.
But then she came. He watched her fall
Into his arms, answering his call.