[Open on a meadow on the cusp of a fresh morn, where one regular fella approaches another.

The first fella sighs forlornly, as the other asks:]

"Hey, what's wrong there, buddy?"

"Oh, nothing. I just... [a spry piano arpeggio is heard] I wish there were more colours."

"Whadda ya mean, glum-bum?"

"Well... [to the beat of a jaunty tune] we have blue for the skies and the seas..."

"That's true."

"Green on the grass, far as I can see..."

"Black for the nights..."

"And yellows for days..."

"Purples for blurples..."

"And suits made of greys! Yet there's no special colour for the feelings I have."

"What feelings are those? Are they terribly sad?"

"No! It's of laughter, of play and delight!"

"Well, I've got a colour that I think is just  ...