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Colors
When I was a young man,
I waited for the sky to turn orange,
A brilliant, phosphlorescent, explosive orange.
To my disappointment,
All I got was purple and green.
Exploding lamp posts,
Street curbs 500 miles high.
Now I'm a lame, old man.
Street curbs are still 500 miles high.
But I smell smoke,
And where there's smoke there's fire.
And soon. real soon,
The sky will be orange.
A dazzling , psychedelic, mind blowing orange.
And people will know freedom.
Yes freedom.
A freedom, such as,
They never knew they would have.
