When the green light turns mean
we blow this scene, ambitious and right;
when the red sputters out: “stop”
we shutter and mutter: “Look beyond…atop.”

But when those nights grow dreary
and I’m weary, fearing I pointed us amiss;
my toes make bright the break lights
and you sneak a kiss.

Wrapped in a moment of bliss
the green again turns mean
and I trudge on, remiss
to cease to indulge red respite…

But when you’re away
my days are a haze of red remembrance
and dread that I’ve swallowed up
every strong, green stream
to be buried in rubble so idle, so red.

But green is not always keen
it’s reckless not righteous;
carelessly we cannot progress.
So protest I do to living fast and loose
and protest I do to playing dead;
So forgive me darling
when I scream and curse
the color green
and forgive me babe when I
soil serene beds
with the phrase: “I hate the color red.”