You hold your head up to the sky
You say what kind of blue are you? Are you?
Then you ride your pony 'round and 'round
It’s diggin’ a hole, right through, right through
You stumble down a yellow brick road,
Spinning your
shoes in the air, the air.
Then you, hold your breath, and count to nine,
Hoping that soon somebody will find you, find you,
Go on, go
(
Read more... )