well there are no pills left to swallow
the bitterest part's gone down
no brick road left to follow
'cause the storm's blown through town
and i am sifting through old postcards
i filed inside my head
where islands glow like ruby shoes
and you meant every word you said

so kansas, keep your chin up -
the good witch is still around,
and i am packing up the postcards
and getting out of town.

you were trapped inside a camera
convex and upside down
i could not save us from it
the sky was burned and browned
it was curling at the edges
as the fire destroyed it all
and all that kept us on the ledge, dear,
was the memory of the fall

so adam, keep your chin up -
i am taking all the blame,
and i will bury all the apple cores
and leave you your good name.

and there are no wicked witches here,
just fairy tales unlearned.
princes off their horses,
happy endings spurned
in favor of some sad post-modern finish
to our tale
postcards trapped in bottles
and ships that don't set sail

so sweetheart, keep your chin up -
i admit it's all my fault.
the postcards all are water-logged,
and the ship has filled with salt.
and every postcard held a little lie
that was meant to glue this shut,
but i forgot to fix myself, dear,
and it was me who fell apart.