Eight Hundred Blues

Oh Ocho, you so crazy, come over and let me lick the teat of your: word here. Why do it do it like that? This is a question, you know? I never looked. I do it like a cop, scanning all the time; turning grayer; ah the wrong. Reaction comes in, a brown bottle or maybe a brownish liquid. Fire, maybe it was white. By which I mean clear, the color of the iciest yet water; but the red, and its drying darker colors stay.