I found him dancing around the water,
Waiting for carnations to bloom.
He was a cinnamon man,
Wearing an ill-intended suit.
With a looming stream of thought,
I thought surely it was the end.
Doom was falling like knives,
The man he did pretend.
But there I saw through his twisted gaze,
An orange flower from the deep.
Closer to the cinnamon man I went,
And the blossom went to sleep.