It's not the red of the dying Sun
The morning sheet's surprising stain
It's not the red of which we bleed
The red of Cabernet Sauvignon
A world of ruby all in vain
It's not that red
It's not as golden as Zeus' famous shower
It doesn't, not at all, come from above
It's in the open but it doesn't get stolen
It's not that gold
It's not as golden as memory
Or the age of the same name
It's not that gold
I wish this would be your colour
Your colour, I wish
It is as black as Malevitch's Square
The cold furnace in which we stare
A high pitch on a future scale
It is a starless winternights' tale
It suits you well
It is that black
I wish this would be your colour
Your colour, I wish
A strong comment here is specific: the phrase you keep hearing, the mood you come back for, or the reason this song stays in rotation.
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