b.s.d

Bits of paper falling down on us,
skies are white and green and pink.
Scribbled with notices from
many many people going by.
I want to talk about myself.
I want to talk about myself -
but bits of paper telling me
so many things about myself...
They're falling down on us...

Summer in the dry yellow city,
covered by scribbled confetti.

You are the one in my dreams...
You are the one from my dreams...