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These days have been misty-
Every naked truth had foggy dresses to wear.
They pranced around the hidden alleys of the mind,
Wearing blue roses in their hair.
It was a foggy night,
And the radio played sad songs.
I ran my fingers trough the album,
And saw sepia eyes talking of joys yet unborn.
A beaten grey Ambassador screeched to a halt somewhere,
The headlight gleam pierced through the fingers of night-
It twisted and turned in the long necked refuge of the red wine.
It moved and it churned till it could churn no more-
The wine painted designs of love on the white marble floor.
I think I wrote my last wish on the shards of glass with cigarette smoke,
Before I walked out into the embrace of the night, and-
Heard the whisky coloured snores of the city folk.
I walked on and I saw those dresses being shed,
All the truths, now, danced around naked-
Naked, in my head.