She kept them that way to avoid thinking about the colours
That she might like if she looked
But it was easier to just keep everything as grey as always
And then nothing could dim, or tarnish.
The walls of the cell were greyish.
He asked if painting the walls pretty colours with patterns and things
To make it a place of freedom and dreams
She looked at him with bewilderment in her eyes
And told him sternly to leave then because they are
The walls of a cell which is always greyish.
He gave up puzzling about this and dreamed of field of golden barley
Of hills and beautiful sunsets
She repeated an oft said phrase with more vehemence
The walls stay grey because they are as I say
Always destined to be greyish