oz

you have to take my hand

follow me down the road//

it doesn’t have to be made of yellow bricks if you don’t want it to be

‘cause we’re not chasing the wizard,

he’s chasing us//

trying to bottle our kisses and

ground the harmonies we sing

into powders for his garden

(…'cause everyone knows

love makes flowers grow)//

we don’t need emerald cities

we’d rather slide into the ocean

on ghanian gold

spell our names in

semi-precious stonedust

on the sides of volcanoes

to make the Goddess giggle

(c) 2009 l.a.m.