There the merry hologram glowing blue purple blue Cactus human cherry on a stool Beyond the window he would not look Inside the sky made of wood.
The barber talks to his ferns The flowers he understood The living they earn Sparkling its rough nails of your barber. The breath and life he will spruce with apple-pie order. He listens to Each one story Always about a time A time which was cheery.
He looks piercingly to all their prickly What he touches intently To turn the time that latches onto your head which started feeling heavy. Lifted into glee so jolly and carefree.
A man Or the boys They finally stand up easily. Capes dusted Top hat powdered Their voice of fears collected as tips For pricking up his ears.
The door that opens in the end The swirling light that beckons Hair became a way to lighten --- When times get rough and belligerent Cut it off, rugged and ruffian.
The barber hears him and all The others like soldiers They share their laughs Troubles leaving shoulders Leaving like a waterfall. The barber knows everything The barber knows all.