PSYCHEDELICs

Blue (The Happy Pack)
The ghosts of foreigners
come at daylight’s smile
Into the fields
and the lust for life
Bygones are apples
to fill the stomach
from hungry badgers
of youth-like revolutions
We always stack
the parcels but we always knife
for wintertime’s loneliness
and our apples are much sweeter

Orange (Those Striking Eyes)
Hey Mr. Poetry
is your pumpkin carved again?
Shimmering and flickering
His eyes are too pretty
and your holiday holes a light,
wait for the wicker to burn
You're hard to knife,
but you're raw to eat
your brightness is a sight
The scent of the low spirit
hoists your hands up
as you hold dear pumpkin
While they wander off
with somewhere to be
Oh Mr. Prose you've got to be here

Red (Your Lovely Dress)
And what's for your candor's sake,
when you dress your holy words red
You're the queen of vindication
but your little shouts fade
Someone is going to change direction
away from your ancient bible
of audacious little trifle
when I color my rhymes too,
too red for you
While you always cost
of things you're against with
Oh the regrets you lost
in your own red silk
you've worn in summertime

White (The Painter)
The pleasant voices in your head
while your literature is a must-read
But you’ve went to chew the walls
Must I say you’re great painter too
Whilst we watch, the reel rolls
and the days you catch
for your relationships to sell
You’re painting your walls too white
The fresh scent and the lovely sight
You’re such a story to tell

Yellow (Living Days)
You’re on your silver lining
with a million wreckages and some fairytale suicides
like the somber darkness
of the high noon’s tides
We’re decent people
of everyday’s pavements
and we stitch the rag dolls of our lives
And sometimes we catch
with a million laughter
or other times we are diffidence
Our sleeping daylights
and our living nocturnal sighs
We’re such harmony
and we’re such conflict

Black (Hearing Voices)
I’d like talking to you because your voice sounds nice
I know I sound the hound’s cry
when I say I got what you mean when you sighed
of your sons and daughters fighting over your loss
over a gamble in a reeking street
up where Satan used to sell drugs
And you said you love it
And you said you hated your calluses
while I listen to you talking about your new hair-do
and more fabulousness
of donning clothes, but I reckoned
you hated rooms without lights
because it tears you inside
for you can’t see yourself
anymore when there’s no to see
Like when the world is beautiful
and your life is worth a cent
All these things like cotton
and I still like hearing voices
Though I know I cut my ears

Violet (Beautiful Saints)
You're saying something
something like a romantic
while if you think we're not skeptic
because we're too mean
and we mean riduculous
cut-throat lips
You're kissing what you haven't seen
while the world says we have to hide our ugly truths
while if you think you're given
the streets to mouth your voice
while your good self dictates your choice
of wordplay and manners
while if you think we're mere whispers
while we think like a violent storm
to burn your church down

Green (The Green Eyed Monster)
The green eyed monster
chirps his melody
down the heart's pavements
like ten thousand pins on his back
cringed and but easily
he sings to his queen hello,
goodbye 'ole familiar
You always take him by surprise
He's spilling the milk
he's a downpour on jarred mine's
and compulsions
So down with the excursions
and the wandering mind's
some hollow knitting
Oh his eyes're too green for his own good

Pink (Useful Believer)
"I'm quite sure," you recalled
and your horse jumps too high
an equestrian of strayed convictions
"We want you on our side,"
they say, with a humble face
and a dazed sigh
You're a leader of a handful coalitions,
your divine skepticism
with a swaying mind running with a trace
of making it a living
"Where do you go, criticism?"
my friend says
"Well it shan't be astonishing,"
We’re the convenient believers!

Neon (The Modern Thought)
The timepiece ticks humid
whence everyone told thou you're
next eon's generation
Whilst they shan't be defense
when your ammunition's a thought
and stuck in winter's time,
aye, to them not even ha'porth -
a frozen definition -
Oh the woruld is tense
when they see thou like the spring
thereupon with something to complain
and someone to draw,
the best caricature -
But whither it now dawns
the leaves are falling
Nay, what a dream, the best adventure,
because tis thy betst
the modern thought can do for you