My head will turn to yellow

My eyes will turn to green

My voice will turn to mellow

But still I can't be seen

Galaxie 500, Melt Away

I walked the unwalked garden of rose-beds

In the public park; at home felt the want

Of a single rose present to imagine

The garden´s remainder in full paint

Sylvia Plath, 

Fable of the rhododendron stealers

Upon my face we leave no trace

but in her stomach mercury aged

The Smashing Pumpkins, Annie Dog