The grass is green... or so it was at four. Now the meadow’s breathing... through the parlour floor. The sheep are counting me... instead of me and them, While Hendrix paints the sky... a neon-violet hem. Sit down, my friend... the kettle’s on the heat, Keep your heavy boots... from dancing off your feet. Oh, the Pink Elephants are marching through the rye, With velvet ears and stars... within their eyes. Don’t fight the tide, just let the tea stay warm, I’ll be your anchor... in this Technicolor storm. From Colombo’s shores... to a London rainy night, Everything is strange... but everything’s alright. The walls are melting... into pools of Earl Grey tea, Billy’s in the corner... laughing soft at me. "Just hold the cup," he says, "and watch the colours run," The moon is just a wafer... of the morning sun. The "Stones" are rolling quiet... down the garden path, Following the echoes... of a phantom’s belly-laugh. Oh, the Pink Elephants are marching through the rye, With velvet ears and stars... within their eyes. Don’t fight the tide, just let the tea stay warm, I’ll be your anchor... in this Technicolor storm. From Colombo’s shores... to a London rainy night, Everything is strange... but everything’s alright. Now the ceiling’s open... to a Sri Lankan sky, Ancient golden spirits... drifting slowly by. The tea is getting cooler... but the heart is getting bright, We’ve survived the circus... of the neon night. Lay your head back down... the elephants have gone, Wait for the silver... of a quiet, steady dawn. Warm and safe... Wrapped in wool and light... The elephants are sleeping... Goodnight... Goodnight...
