I don’t tend to worry about many things
but one thing recently has played on my mind,
something I have noticed that age defined
the need to wear and fall in love with beige.
If you see me wearing all beige then give me a shout,
if you see me wearing beige then count me out,
shoot me in the head and lay me to waste
and then place me in an unmarked grave.
I don’t want to find myself in beige stay pressed pants
and a beige shirt and jacket to match,
with a summer beige sun hat stuck on my head
I’d rather look ridiculous in trendy clothes or be dead,
because wearing beige reflects our lives
a beige outlook and a beige lifestyle,
lacking any other colour and blending in
into too many of life’s backgrounds and surroundings,
disappearing through being beige, is not the plan or my way,
I had it in mind when plotting my demise
my epitaph would read he lived life,
in a colourful way enjoying it and living it bright,
embracing everything new and in a brave way
and they say he raced to his grave in a joyous, riotous display,
rather than we saw him ambling along and fading away,
so we shot him in the head and buried him in an unmarked grave.