Yellow is the sign, 
he declines to walk through.
Devils live 
in his mind,
he decides he might
tango with the dead
tonight.
If he fights,
the war will rage,
the war will break
his little cage.
Gymnastics like
an acrobat,
now he's flying
without knowing
how to use the wings he's grown.
Oh, so old,
so cold in his little tavern.
So hold on to this
cowardice crimson rose,
the lowest of the low.