The city shines,

the buildings tower,

And everyone in their rose-tinted glasses smiles,

and no one sees what is behind the emerald curtain.

I see.

The lion crumples,

and behind him winged monkeys soar,

The promise of a long-lost life dying in their eyes.

but no one sees what is behind the emerald curtain.

I see.

The scarecrow burns,

lit aflame by his darkest fear,

A pile of kindling, glowing madly against a bruised sky.

and yet no one sees what is behind the emerald curtain.

I see.

The tin woodman rusts,

and what was once shiny is now filthy,

Nothing more than a heap of garbage, beyond what even an oil can can salvage.

Still no one sees what is behind the emerald curtain.

I see.

My girl cries,

And I cannot lick her tears away.

I cannot get to her in her blue dress, cannot hop in her little basket.

She sees what is behind the emerald curtain, and will never forget.

She sees what I see, and it will haunt her forever.

And she gets up and walks away,

Ignoring my yips and yaps.

She is past me now, past us, past all of us.

So I close my eyes tight, and give one final breath.

And then I cannot see.