I’d sign up for a world of greys and blues
I’d sign up for a world of greys and blues
Where no one could label the sun as
A time of day,
But my pens all break like bottlerockets
So I’ve got to cut this short:
Never speed up for anyone,
And only carry half the lightstream in your darling
colorwheel
Your belt of privileged boulevards. The task
Is not to let on too plainly that
You’ve been through this before
and
Never speed up for anybody; they all think you’re far behind
In numbercrunching games, but you have
Counted every single number and
It struck you as too clean, so
You’ve moved on to mud and roasted grime,
The red red run of blackcloth knives
and terror knaves.
So what’s the need to rush?
You’ll only leave them
To more dust I’d settle for a world of pink and greys,
Where no one had a reference point
Beyond their family names, ‘yadda yadda’
Call impatient crows, ‘there’s children
in yr blood,’
And I’d tell you what that means, but
Pens all break like bottlerockets,
son.
