to my left a tiny man dances
inside a 13 and a half inch box
on my right rises the crescent moon
its faint silhouette a dilated pupil
rolling back up to the heavens
it plays die zauberflote
in dramatic go-go lighting
and that hesitant flute begins
its slithering, smokey sleuth
convincing me the moon is real
whistling that he loves me,
sighing that he wants me,
but blue, blue is all i see
around the moon and bathing me
with electric color inside the screen
and emitting from the sky
blue, blue--there's no love for me
not along this pallid dance
nor beneath the weeping rays
of tonight's murky indigo trance
where the room is blue
and the air is blue
but i am a royal purple romance
fading into tragedy
when the stage is set for a
comédie in checkered
black and white
