There were days where the sky was yellow for all,
When the hum of the sky was deep and clear, and people heard it.
Knowledge back then wasn't for the unlimited pockets.
The sky is now all blue, never-ending and in unreachable blue.
Blue has always been the worker's dream.
People believed in the men dressed in blue,
and suddenly because was not a word after all.
In their houses of the mountaintop they sit,
they speak a lot but never say anything.
I sit with the blue people for dinner.
How could I then know if I am still alive?
Their plates are empty
but they chew with their mouths open.
I feel disgust.
I leave.
I feel blue.
Outside the air is grey as grey is the sky,
Water is falling in a deluge.
The rainbow comes when the times are bad.
The poor ones believe in the rainbow, them why
The ones in the bottom always die first?
I guess they always do.
I jump towards the sky and float,
or perhaps am I swimming at the sea?
How does jumping to the blue or grey matters when nothing else does?
There are frontiers and lines but colors are just illusions,
the tricks of the blue people.
