CURSE OF THE LIGHTSCAPE OF SPRING

What in hell do they think they're doing

They're playing with fire

Black hair trailing

Lips clamped shut

That's the end of it

spring will fade, aghast, into the leaves of grass

and all loveliness will die away!

(it's all too pale too dark too blank)

The light red of cheeks, the eyes of brown

That's the end of it

(oh this bitterness this blueness this cold)