A world passes by me, flowing images
Of houses and of streets,
Wires skewed betwixt concrete and mortar.
It is the blue world,
A world tinted by the glass of modern vessels.
The world is sad and bleak,
Cold through all seasons and knows
Little of the pleasures of red.
In the blue world,
Existence is a constant dream and
One comes and goes
Without pretense or destination.
The blue world searches to find
What is already given,
The blue world never understands,
Never stops, nor stands still.
The world is seen through a thick glass,
It is strange and unfamiliar.
It is the next stop.
It is our world after all.