The space in between time is filled with fish,
swimming through dimensions.
They say hello,
if they see a friend,
but mostly they're just red.
All the girl can think of is colours and the wish
to pay attention
to what's moving in the yellow
abyss of distent
in the continuum of dread.

She can not perceive the reason why she'll cry,
but in her heart, there is a cloud
and in her head her own blue voice
that sings to her
day in day out.
When in the young parts of the dry
december night it speaks aloud
by twisted choice
the fish consider
what tomorrow she will smile about.