Magenta

The nation has called out to us: love is coming.

Who are you to seize my gut feeling?

Try to sit down in the armchair where one looks outside. The free bees have song on their notes, while the guitar is played out of tune on the porch.

The video recorder goes haywire in the attic where the cassettes yearn. Lower yourself to be the consequence of your mother, or it is how you look at it.

The purple train will tolerate the singing until the station. The end of magenta: is permission given? Come closer and lie down: listen dear.