The crimson on the empty streets,

Deserted and forgotten,

Rust and lonely telephones,

Upon the road I'm lost on.

The orange of burning,

And trees on cinder blocks,

Arms reach for the sky,

Alone and tried on mountain tops.

The yellow of the dying buds,

The tired and the sickly,

The old flesh and new grass,

And those that died too quickly.

The green of nausea,

Flies and garbage,

Reckless damage,

And pointless damage.

The ink upon the night sky,

The sapphire of the beckoning oceans,

The blood within an ice-cold heart,

Simply going through the motions.

The plum of forgotten bruises,

Subways and streetcars,

The broken bones and fingers,

The eyes of those gone too far.

See my mute cacophony,

Laid out and torn in brilliance,

Breathe in the smouldering sun,

But don't forget,

This rainbow is you.