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.

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