The sky seems made of unpolished steel,
Hanging misty in the autumn air.
“I think the sun’s trying to come out,” she said.
Like my orange pants hanging in the closet,
Waiting for summer weather, sunny skies,
Ready to party for no good reason.
Like my heart, rocking on the edge,
Curled up inside, looking for an opening,
A clear way to love, out on the ledge of the blue air.