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Your Grayscale

A morning lost in the Siberia of your back
A night tour to your honey factory
A sip of rum from a glass freshened by your ice
And two big hands that make me sleep so well
 
There is no winter colder that the summer of your eyes
That sneaky gaze in your paper tower.
That salt that keeps the bodies cold, but the ice, melted.
Tastier combination I believe I roam.
 
For what I saw, under the shell
Because of what I saw I want you here
You, with your grayscale, among the color of my shades.
I like your grayscale more than any other garden.
 
Eeeieee
Oooooo
Eeeeiee
Oooooo
 
And if with no apparent explanation I call you when I bother you, it´s not upsetting.
That wrinkled frown with paper folds.
Choosing you is picking you, keys to my place,
And dance your words until morning.
 
For what I saw, under the shell
Because what I saw I want you here
You, with your grayscale, among the color of my shades.
I like your grayscale more than any other garden.
 
For what I saw, under the shell
Because what I saw I want you here
You, with your grayscale, among the color of my shades.
I like your grayscale more than any other garden.
 
For what I saw, under the shell
Because what I saw I want you here
You, with your grayscale, among the color of my shades.
I like your grayscale more than any other garden.
 
Eeeiee
Ooooo
Eeeiee
Ooooo
Eeeiee
Ooooo
Eeeiee
Ooooo
 
For what I saw, under the shell
Because what I saw I want you here
You, with your grayscale, among the color of my shades.
I like your grayscale more than any other garden.
 
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