A multitude of pink skies
Blossomed into a basket of pale yellowness
left wilting in the green grass on a Sunday afternoon
With a drink in my hand and four pairs of yellow socks
And a marching band carried out in unison withing the black plot
A splash of silver, so becoming of old age
So becoming weathered, like platinum
Very rich and fabulous like titanium on the Titanic
The red dots on the front of the ship make me panic
Put out a red flag to make them stop
We might drag her into the olive sea
To which our blue love will see
What blue and dark shall belong to me
Deep in the emerald, hostile sea.
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