The grays are worse than the blues…
At least you can write a song
about the rich cobalt-feeling of sadness.
The grays settle like a cloak of smoke,
leaving you voiceless and dry-eyed,
with nothing so satisfying as a good cry.
The grays have nothing to give,
not even tears. Wraith-like,
they confuse the mind,
veiling the eyes,
covering the world.