red as roses on rosebushes on rose gardening shears. (red as the blood that soaks into the ground. where do you think the flowers get their color?)
white as pale bows on pale hands on pale picket fences. (white as the blood that drained from their faces when they saw the scare tissue. what do you think those fences are for?)
blue as navy skirts on navy paint on a navy sky. (blue as that same sky that different hands reach for at night, tracing the lights up above. where do you think daddy heads after momma's in bed?)
Hush, hon. We both know it ain't the sun. We both know it ain't the babies. We both know it ain't his office. And they know that too. Why do you think they strain for the stars so damn much?