That bright blue sky
Must hit every eye
With a slightly different blue
Who would’ve thought
that my shade of blue,
Wouldn’t be shared with you?
Who’ve known one day my blue
Might be faded or grey-scaled,
Covered from view.
Who will tell me if my eyes are wrong?
How can I trust them blindly still,
For how much longer will I play along?
Who’d prepared me to fear my neighbours
When they criticize my view
And make me cower from them too?
Will I forever ask if what I see is proper?
Did I choose these eyes I’ve gotten?
Are they rotten?
Hold on,
I’ve got an itch in my eyes.
Let me peel back these lenses.
…
Since when is the sky orange?
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