- Vol. 05
- Chapter 03
Better smoke be white and sky be blue. Colours, like people, need fixtures true.
Blue of the ocean, white of the waves: a primal emotion this heart craves.
Blue is the tune the guitar-man plays to the green of my nights and blue of my days.
Days strewn like leaves for a breeze await. The crow calls from the frontier gate.
Autumnal leaves strewn, the earth is gold and rust. Nice camouflage for the forever dust.