the painter

Technicolor reverie, acrylic-laden dreams
Retrospective pondering at four in the morning

Recording all she sees to battle entropy
From the ether, he laughs at the irony

Perfect symmetry in who we used to be
The past life of a stranger that could not mean more to me

She kept every secret in the hairs of her brushes
As the watercolor leeches into the fibers of the canvas

She won't explain the reason why the image is imprisoned
Holding on so tightly to what has to be forgotten

She stands, and she makes her declaration
To a world so silent, she yearns for an answer

And as the spirits come and go, she's left without an anchor
Her violet teardrops dot the stems of flowers - the painter

She wrote a desperate message
And she promptly painted over it
But the blemishes from bleeding ink will surely leave some evidence

"If anyone is reading this, my failures were an accident"
As every awkward brushstroke would begin to serve a testament

Living proof of visions locked away by passing time
Sunshine of the summer slowly limiting supply
Present moments sink into the haze of blanking minds
Despite the ineluctable, she'll try

She painted every instant from her start until the finish
But a bottle still left open spilled onto every frame

So she feigned some inspiration, and with some concentration
Those memories recovered - still, it wasn't the same
It wasn't the same
Oh
Wasn't the same
Ooh