I doesn't seem like it by the looks of me, I know. I'm all dark everything now Dark sunglasses, dark hair Dark clothes, trussed up, a rockstar late for her own concert No kidding even my heart is black black as the cold night's deepest obsidian
My mother insists it is yellow, though She remembers me: I was five little, skinny kid with pale skin and a large head The first color I go to is yellow Big old box of crayola jumbos with the eight colors The crayon mighty meaty; huge in my little hand In that big old box Yellow was the shortest crayon stick
give me sunshine, lil baby.
I'm ironic in a way that though all my clothes are black, my favorite color is yellow