| Green eyes have not yet been known to me For I have not your eyes
|
| My waking has not yet been grown at all
|
| Oh, this endless day
|
| Pigment gray on the second floor
|
| My friend died last night, or tried
|
| Lights are not bad for such a small place
|
| He’s posing like he’s quite big-headed
|
| I know you’re a heartful mind
|
| The shades are the Venetian kind
|
| They are drawn down blind
|
| For only lines are shadowed in angles
|
| On my wall in the daytime
|
| My tales have not yet been seen by them
|
| They are only paper
|
| Screaming ladies, converted shirts
|
| I wish and wishes that never came through
|
| Green eyes have not yet been known to me For I have not your eyes
|
| My waking has not yet been grown at all
|
| Oh, this endless day
|
| Pigment gray on the second floor
|
| My friend died last night, or tried
|
| Lights are not bad for such a small place
|
| He’s posing like he’s quite big-headed
|
| I know you’re a heartful mind
|
| The shades are the Venetian kind
|
| They are drawn down blind
|
| For only lines are shadowed in angles
|
| On my wall in the daytime
|
| My tales have not yet been seen by them
|
| They are only paper
|
| Screaming ladies, converted shirts
|
| I wish and wishes that never came through
|
| Green eyes have not yet been known to me For I have not your eyes
|
| My waking has not yet been grown at all |