You picture me behind the curtain, scheming with Oz.
I wonder if when you see me, you greet the person you imagine me to be.
How awkward that I have little resemblance to the ghostly image
Which haunts me now.
I see her, that girl.
She could have been. She could have survived
Had it not been for life's cruel treatment of her.
Now she's gone and died.
The girl is my shadow, following me when the day has begun
And wandering away, lost, when the sun has set.
She speaks to you at night when you are otherwise alone in your dream.
She is almost as hollow as Oz's projection.
He used it to trick his people, his followers, his believers.
Although, there is no one to trick but you and me.
So, do you struggle to maintain this phantom to worship once again?
But, of course. She represents a future lost.
Your future lost.