Nothing out here is colourful.

The fluffy brown stuff,

On the brick steps, is just that.

I shouldn't let this place get me down.

The wood is just wood,

A tree is just a tree.

The rocks show no faces,

I am my enemy.

We were there together.

An end without a tail,

No stories of her,

Just turns of the hand of a clock,

And lying in each other's arms.