YLLA

Mr. and Mrs. K were not old. They had the fair, brownish skin of the true
Martian, the yellow coin eyes, the soft musical voices. Once they had
liked painting pictures with chemical fire, swimming in the canals in the
seasons when the wine trees filled them with green liquors, and talking
into the dawn together by the blue phosphorous portraits in the speaking
room.
They were not happy now.
1
Ray Bradbury
The Martian Chronicles