Only in Turner Field do we see blue trees and red grass' It rains shattered glass and crows circle the white sheet tables Set, by the men in yellow suits and gas masks' The artificial heat and robotic dove Rise towards the sky disappearing together becoming one The zuing of the warmth radiates off the pointy grass The air is a blurr, and creates a hazy scene Trees wobble as the crows circle, woppeting around the tables
