You're number eight.
Your name is Jane,
with black hair, braids, and black lines
around your eyes...
Shades to hide your habit.
I don't know your age,
though you guessed mine...
My sign.
Your sign
The opening line is always just the same
same intention, destination.
You and me and rainbows.
Loaded guns attract.
We know the rules,
we don't react.
We wait in hope,
we don't expect -
You and me and rainbows.
Down here everything is fine.
We have a straw, we have a line.
We have a bag, a rock, a mountain
with a string of shepherds driving lions.
Aiming skewers at the sheep...
face down, asleep, in onion fields.
The crying fields.
The worms... they peep through holes
which once were eyes.
They thrive... they bake
although we painted out the sky,
the sun.
There's only thunder,
and you and me and rainbows.
Let's hide out in the lay-by,
let the time fly by.
Tonight's disguise a car crash
with our wheels like shattered stars...
dashboard charred. Our windscreen
like a graveyard for the flies
The hungry flies are circling,
mourning as the watchers squat
with cameras, cakes and flasks.
They're spying, spitting
as the blue light flashes,
axes, axes, axes swing! (We're broken)
Broken wings,
but sure we'll fly
and reach our destination.
you and me and rainbows.
And if we turn the lights down low
and watch the sky cry through the window...
Will I watch your fingers grow
and stretch like butterflies
The shadows
flexing, licking toes, and blinding
as slowly the sun sets on the same old hill.
The same red glow.
We're quite alone
just you and me and rainbows.
Everything I own is in the corner of your room. It's covered with a sheet just like it died -
but I will take a broom.
I'll sweep it new again,
arrange it...
Oh, I'll grow a dozen heads.
No I never will neglect my world again.
I'm safe beneath my blanket.
Come home...For you. For me... and rainbows.
looking down
