Okay is a grey thinking droll,
That sails his thoughtless ways through cascading fadeouts,
Of some kind of blissful past time.
I cannot recall the thinking droll as some kind of beneficiary;
He remains intact aboard a sinking ship.
And he’s so thoughtless!
Why he drags on like a drunken fool.
But there is some sort of tone in his voice,
A bittersweet, staid whisper,
And he lays me to a hammock,
Where the skies are partly cloudy,
And things remain okay,