Everything is green in the new-morning light,
As the birds trill sharply to the sun's feeble might.
The cold fades away with the absence of night,
Everything is green in the new-morning light.

Everything is blue in the mid-morning day,
The soft bells toll while the crow and squirrels play.
The flowers open up to the first shining ray
Everything is blue in the mid-morning day.

Everything's gold in the high-noon sun,
Waves crashing down as the little boys run
all eager to finish what they've barely begun.
Everything's gold in the high-noon sun.

Everything's silver in late afternoon,
The day slows down under that ever-burning moon
As the rays warm the grass of the now fading dune.
Everything's silver in late afternoon.

As the sun burns low, everything's peach:
The white acrid smoke of the last car off the beach.
Now the senile fools will use this to preach
that when the sun burns low, everything's peach.

Everything's hushed at the onset of dusk.
All the crippled flowers crawl back into their husks
The old chain swing on the hill finally rusts.
Everything's hushed at the onset of dusk.

Everything's quiet in the darkness of night
As the pale rows of lamps give off their dead light.
Though all is still, it seems just as right.
For who, of us, can still keep the fight?
Can bring back the spark. Pour out their might.
So that they may become our savior, our Knight.
So that they may re-kindle what burns out our blight?
So that we may purge what has stolen our flight?
So that we may once more remember our plight?
So that everything will be green, in the new-morning light.