The sun is white and the moon is gray
And the river is black blue and green
The young are young and the old are old
And there are no shades of gray in between

There's at least ten different strains of smoke in the air
And my prints are on them all to prove I was there
And I love the curses but I'm not one for the trenches
And I do love the walking but thank god for the benches

it's hard to tell where green begins and the city gray stops
I guess the trees all bought their armor at second hand shops
My second had is working but the minute hand is broke again
I know time will pass but I don't know when