It's not the red of the dying Sun The morning sheet's 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 red
It's not as golden as Zeus' famous shower It doesn't, not at all, come 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 gold
I wish this would be your colour Your colour, I wish
It is as black as Malevitch's Square The cold furnace in which we stare A high pitch on a future scale It is a starless winternights' tale It suits you well It is that black
I wish this would be your colour Your colour, I wish
