A color taken from the corner of the dawn, hidden beneath the skin, pulsing with the weight of something that never had a name.
Listen
Lyrics
He slipped through morning unnoticed
while the sky was still asleep
Plucked a color from the corner
where the spectrum runs too deep
Not red, not blue, not gold or green—
but something just between
The hue of almost-truth, perhaps
or what dream might have been
Painters cursed their palettes
The sunsets lost their aim
Even memories turned monochrome
and love forgot its name
He hid it in a locket
buried deep beneath his skin
It glowed when he was silent
and pulsed when he sinned
A woman once described it
then forgot what she had said
A songbird tried to sing it
but the notes came out as thread
Rain fell wrong for seven days
The moon looked slightly bruised
He passed a priest who wept aloud,
“God’s crayons have been used.”
The thief grew heavy with the shade
It stained his every thought
He tried to name it backward
but the language came up short
So he climbed the hill of endings
and returned it to the dawn
Now dawn won’t match your memories—
but it’s brighter than it’s gone
And somewhere, still, in silent rooms
you’ll feel it start to stir
A color made of almosts
and the space between what were
About this song
A color that never had a name—carried in secret, given back to dawn.
Return to: The Almanac of Impossible Folk