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We agreed this city was like a morgue |
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You said we should liven things up around here |
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This is red when paint the walls with fire and pools of cream |
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This is my mouth with sharp silver teeth and our implausible dream |
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These are the blues when sung to you by blue lips the likes you've never seen |
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Will the smoke leave us time? |
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Or has someone extinguished your fire? |
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Maybe you'd rather be left behind? |
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This is how it sells when there is no product in the store |
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This is how we enter when there are no handles on the door |
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This is sleep when they remove the warmth from our little house |
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This is how you glow burning there as quiet as a mouse |
