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What are you waiting for?
It's not the red of the dying sun.
The morning sheets surprising stain.It's not the red of which we bleed.
It's not the red of the dying sun.The morning sheets surprising stain.
It's not the red of which we bleed.The red of cabernet sauvignon.
A world of ruby all in vain.It's not that redIt's not as golden as Zeus famous shower.
It doesn't come, not at all, from above.It's in the open but it doesn't get stolen.
It's not that gold.It's not as golden as memory.Or the age of the same name.
It's not that goldI wish this would be your colour.I wish this would be your colour.
I wish this would be your colour.Your colour, I wish.
It is as black as Malevich's Square.The cold furnace in which we stare.
A high pitch on a future scale.It is a starless winternight's tale.It suits you well.
It is that black.
I wish this would be your colour.
I wish this would be your colour.I wish this would be your colour.
Your colour, I wish.
