It’s a gray sunrise with black rain.
The sticky nastiness is falling down.
You look up – and you can’t see the sky.
Maybe today is the day you die.
You close your eyes and keep breathing,
You paint green grass in your head,
You imagine the colors of life –
The black rain still flooding your face.
You can’t open your eyes,
The black rain sealed them shut.
You live in your small pretty world,
And you forget what and where is real.
But it’s your world in your head.
Isn’t that what is real?
And why would you need to remember at all?
And how do you open your eyes if you do?