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.