You’re number eight. Your name is Jane, with black hair, braids, and black lines around your eyes… Shades to hide your habit. I don’t know your age, though you guessed mine… My sign. Your sign! The opening line is always just the same. The same intention, destination. You and me and rainbows.
Loaded guns attract. We know the rules, we don’t react. We wait in hope, we don’t expect — You and me and rainbows.
Down here everything is fine. We have a straw, we have a line. We have a bag, a rock, a mountain with a string of shepherds driving lions. Aiming skewers at the sheep… face down, asleep in onion fields. The frying fields. The worms… they peep through holes which once were eyes. They thrive… they bake although we painted out the sky and the sun. There’s only thunder, and you and me and raindows.
Let’s hide out in the lay-by, let the time fly by. Tonight’s disguise — a car crash with our wheels like shattered stars, our dashboard charred. Our windscreen… a graveyard for the flies (we’re fast!) The hungry flies are circling, mourning as the watchers squat with cameras, cakes and flasks. They’re spying, spitting as the blue light flashes, axes swing. We’re broken wings, but still we’ll fly and we’ll reach our destination — you and me and rainbows.
And if we turn the lights down low and watch the sky cry through the window… Will I watch your fingers grow and stretch like butterflies? The shadows flexing, licking toes, and blinding as slowly sun sets on the same old hill. The same red glow. We’re quite alone — just you and me and rainbows.
Everything I own is in the corner of your room. It’s covered with a sheet just like it died — but I will take a broom. I’ll sweep it new again, arrange it… Oh, I’ll grow a dozen hands. No I never will neglect my world again. I’m safe beneath my blanket. Call it home… For you. For me… and rainbows
Loaded guns attract
We know the rules, we don’t react
We wait in hope
We don’t expect
Just you and me and rainbows
Looking down
