Dullness comes like rain,
Eyes dull like champagne
Left out in glasses cold,
Like underpolished gold.

Such mollycoddle words
Such words I’ve often heard,
Disguised as strong commands,
With my shoulders meeting hands.

A shooting spree of dreams
On a melancholy green,
I hide him under beds,
And tell the room he’s dead.

Dullness comes like rain,
Like old champagne again,
Paralysed and rolled,
In underpolished gold.