Nothing that Baudelaire wrote… Nothing written in a Baudelaire note… Nothing that Baudelaire rhymed Chimed for the children. Nothing that Baudelaire gave Enslaved me like the colour-wave Spreading over your perfect skin I felt your heartbeat take me in. Nothing that Baudelaire knew… Synaesthesia Blue… The colour of you Isn’t anything Baudelaire dreamed of The way that you came When I whispered your name No colours the same As the scent of you. Nothing but shades Of Synaesthesia Blue Of Synaesthesia Blue Of Synaesthesia Blue Senses fall like Fleurs du Mal Scent and touch and waiting games Listen out for shades of blue I’ll wait for you Take me there… Baudelaire Take me there... Baudelaire Take me there... Baudelaire Take me there... The colour of you Isn’t anything Baudelaire dreamed of: The way that you came When I whispered your name And the scent of you. Nothing but shades Of Synaesthesia Blue… Of Synaethsesia Blue Synaethsesia Blue....