Speech is speeding by I see the bits and pieces of it, like tornado shrapnel
out of Dorothy's window.
Why do I even mutter?
The Tin Man knows all my worries which stir my beating heart to speak.
The Lion nudges me to get off the ledge.
The Scare Crow he is long gone.
I miss him as he is running through the field.
Make me a big black crow,
make me an apple tree,
make me the flat face of the emerald,
as it gleams.
