I have three fourths a mind that likes how you're around and a stuck twenty five bent on shutting you down before inside (and I'm trying) out loud with count to two, one is familiar but (water thinks) so are you after the rain comes and white-washes us clean
but white isn't neat, who says red isn't true and the two next-best colors aren't yellow and blue? It appears as though wisdom (seen through a blank lens) is only now starting to shift shades and blend in the hues of the thoughts of the heart's hidden song