There were galaxies in her eyes because
When she hung herself from the old tree...
I lie down on the forest floor
And look up at the trees...
I'm okay.
It's just that...
And then she sighs
and says in a shaking voice...
My thoughts of you are red.
Not the flare of passion or tender hues of...
Helicopters circle 'round
the little red brick school...
Your mother has been worried
about the exit wounds on your shoulders...
I swear Jesus cried that night.
It was Friday, and the skyline...
There's something nostalgic about
dimly-lit roads and faded footpaths...
Red:
for the excruciating pain that you caused my young...
In February,
there is tenderness in the air...
From his inside pocket,
he takes out a smile...