oh, the redness, the quiteredness, the quiet redness' rage;
how can it have such threadless control over my kite?
is it the breathless gaze I throw, like it's a blindin' sight,
or is it the fast pace I tend to go when it's at firin' range?
how could I know? I don't know. I only feel the pumpin' grow;
but if it stains or if it flows I'll probably never know for sure.
all I can do is use my fins to swim its tones, its mighty blur,
'til I can tell whether it dims or simply shows me where to go...
