Traffic Light

You stormed out of the room, an ocean.
You're wanted.

Beyond needing you, I hold on to one memory, cold as Alaska.
The truth is that feathers were supposed to soar at that mountain.

And you stormed out of the room, an ocean.
You're needed.

Before wanting you, or feeling you here, I feel uneasiness.
This voodoo would rather spare some time at the mistress' house.
To play her.
Make her yours but make me mine or make her ours but make me yours as well.

Come closer, Blueberry.
I beg.
Clear this atmosphere.

But wait until it turns red.