The Swans

The swans are crying and smoking out the window blue and green in their feathers they reach for the lighter they light her she's the one in blue and green leather heart and eyes of grey the ashes of those games are winter cold in May May I ask, what's left to say? I think about it night and day i'm glad we didn't stay friends, i guess I'm sure about it more than less for us, this turned into a mess for him, a big success