Paper petals fall from the sky, my eyes receive the red that bleeds the nose open.

Green follows greed blocking yellow sunbeams; ski’s covered in black clouds hiding the white moonbeams.

Blueberry wild, how can I smile, running a black road for many miles; fellow gentlemen dressed in magenta tuxedos, silver lining stitched with golden needles, shoes of gray with bottoms faded away by walk of day.

While the translucent rains stain the tan box house dark brown and now his sign, “I will work for food” cries without sound, pencil laid makings run juvenile wild, street lights blink orange child scorn, street life, soul torn and recession born.