Sitting In Dirt

Let us sit in shared light 
and talk about the cove. 

You take the call of a cuckoo, 
and start trembling in blues. 

You may sing without moving the lips 
but this song is mine. 

Why do you want to take your― 
own life, in the drag race of bazaar? 

Colors will hack you to death. 
Don't climb the stairway to fame. 

It was renaissance. The severed 
hand was writing a letter of gratitude.