under blue skies

it's not funny
when the waterfall spills
between the sharper rock
and the steeper hills

under blue skies
clothed in gray perfume
between the shouting crowd
and the silent room

finding cover
wild pleasure around
paying full attention
not hearing a sound

drifting on air
while paradise sleeps
between the sad Angel
and the God who weeps

it's cold comfort
that heated blood flows
when everyone's lonely
and everyone knows

turn down the lights
remember the sun
and do unto others
what needs to be done

it's not funny
when the waterfall spills
between the sharper rock
and the steeper hills

under blue skies
clothed in white perfume
between the shouting crowd
and the silent room