All of us hiding in the night,
pale refugees of awful light,
we cower in alleyways and clubs,
breaking hearts and making love.
And blending in with the wall is the palest of them all.
We pick our roses by the railway,
we have our picnics in the mall,
our parents say “look what the cat dragged in,”
it doesn't bother us to be dead birds laid at the door.
And blending in with the wall is the palest of them all.

INVIA LE CORREZIONI