Ivory
The golden flows of the liquid metal,
With a fascinating rolling hill.
The heat boiling into your face,
Water leaking into the window sill.
I cannot see through the rising steam,
As vision fades from site.
No one knows, and no one will ever understand,
The beauties of the night.
The heat boiling into your face,
Water leaking into the window sill.
I cannot see through the rising steam,
No one knows, and no one will ever understand,
The beauties of the night.
HMM 5/31/97
