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Sometimes late when things are real |
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And people share the gift of gab between themselves |
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Some are quick to take the bait |
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And catch the perfect prize that waits among the shelves |
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But Oz never did give nothing to the Tin Man |
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That he didn't, didn't already have |
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And Cause never was the reason for the evening |
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Or the tropic of Sir Galahad. |
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So please believe in me |
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When I say I'm spinning round, round, round, round |
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Smoke glass stain bright color |
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Image going down, down, down, down |
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Soapsuds green like bubbles |
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Oh, Oz never did give nothing to the Tin Man |
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That he didn't, didn't already have |
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And Cause never was the reason for the evening |
|
Or the tropic of Sir Galahad |
|
So please believe in me |
|
When I say I'm spinning round, round, round, round |
|
Smoke glass stain bright color |
|
Image going down, down, down, down |
|
Soapsuds green like bubbles |
|
No, Oz never did give nothing to the Tin Man |
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That he didn't, didn't already have |
|
And Cause never was the reason for the evening |
|
Or the tropic of Sir Galahad |
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So please believe in me |
