Turning the green leaves brown,
Facts become a nightmare to the town,
He transforms his thoughts into fish,
or fish alike fish
hanging bare near the telephone.
Stars drop to their net,
Girls, blonde and young,
Chime in as birds, unwed,
Begin to dance along,
In dawn, music jangled magic box
draw me close,
and grief becomes nightmare in their steps.
And thus, fish not fish,
that stirs up their dreams.