It's not the red of the dying sun,
The morning sheet's surprising stain.
It's not the red of which we bleed.
The red of Caberne Sauvignon
Will ruby all in vain —
It's not THAT red, it's not that RED,
It's not THAT red, it's not that RED.
It's not as golden as Zeus' famous shower,
It does not at all come from above.
It's in the open but it doesn't get stolen,
It's not that gold.
It's not as golden as memories,
Or the age of the same name,
It's not that GOLD, it's not that GOLD,
It's not that GOLD, — it's not gold at all.
I wish this would be your colour,
I wish this would be your colour,
I wish this would bt your colour,
Your colour… I wish…
It is as black as Malevich's square,
The cold furnice in which we stare.
The high pitch on the future's scale,
It is the starless winternight's tale.
It suits you well…
It is THAT black, it is that BLACK
It is that BLACK, it is that BLACK…
I wish this would be your colour,
I wish this would be your colour,
I wish this would be your colour,
Your colour… I wish.