his yellows were always gold
his blues were shades of green
his lukewarm passion fanned to bold
his friendship it was sanguine

we spoke of old vendettas
of settling the score
we played the senoritas
and made them cry for more

my loyalty was tested
when he settled for a scene
in which he was arrested
on a backdrop gold and green

for an act of cowardice
in a play of vengeance mean
and an attitude of arrogance
whetted by a blade so keen

of long delay
of distance great
of deep dismay
of thwarted fate

then on a morning red with lust
illusions' mist was cut
our bond became betrayed unjust
an open door was shut

his yellows paled to brown
his blues played dour notes
his passion turned to poison
his friendship soon changed coats