Who am I talking to? What is the orange mist?
Could I tell a lie we could both believe? Could I caress you holding you forever? Could I promise I would never leave?
Would you tell me I could stay? We know I am already gone. In an orange mist. All promises and dreams drenched and drowned
In citrine puddles upon red clay The interim journey emblazoned against The fading light has been legendary
Forever foreshortened and foreshadowed I could have missed the mist and lingered But, I would have missed the war
You know that was not my style Where am I to go when we part? Is there an anywhere the orange mist never existed?