My life is clay, devoid of form
For some old, ancient potter
A lump of mass, I stand and think
Of what here brought me to the brink
And only did I wish to know
The color of water

Alone I stand and take abuse
Like a forsaken daughter
A song for pictures springs to mind
And as I think of it I find
That something is so strange about
The color of water

My vision’s gone, I cannot see
I cannot try to spot her
My view’s impaired and yet I try
To cogitate and figure why
That ne’er has someone shown to me
The color of water

O! Now my eyes do open up
But someone else has caught her
And now my eyes are color-blind
Try as I might, I cannot find
A rhyme or reason set behind
The color of water

I stand on edge, my broken dreams
Will find me in a blotter
I’ll fall in stillness, seeing red
That just too late runs by my head
For red, not blue, is verily
The color of water