The Painting

Maybe I wasted more time than I needed to Your ring finger hand was turning my head blue A branch to your tree like a phantom limb Well maybe if more that you asked me to sing And I colored both your eyes the same as mine But you were the artist and I, I a far cry If colors together someday we’ll find Then pictures we lost but the paint hasn’t yet dried Brushes will come clean Brushes they’ll get clean Brushes they'll always wash clean But censurable hands they're stained for keeps Maybe I wasted more time than I needed to Your ring finger hand still turning my head blue A branch to your tree like a phantom limb Well maybe if more that you asked me to sing And I colored both your eyes the same as mine But you were the artist and I’m still a far cry If colors together someday we’ll find Then pictures we lost but the paint hasn’t yet dried And brushes they'll wash clean Brushes they’ll come clean Brushes will always wash clean But penitent hands..... On your podium stand With your odium hands And ring my neck