breakdown of our paintbrushes


I’ve got real artsy hands covered in soot & crud
As black as a cawing crow, my hands are covered in charcoal
Or maybe it’s paint, & my hands are covered in rainbows
I’ve painted sunsets with nature to match my red & green painted nails
If not for ambition, I’d be dead, gone, & lost
If not for the light, into the darkness I would have lured
So this is what a breakdown feels like
Leaving me toothless while the bullet I bite
What’s so great about cocktails with dinner, women, & song?
The directions I don’t know while the map is already sealed
My real artsy hands help me forget
With paint on my denim jeans, I’m painting a portrait of being more fortunate
The cards you were dealt may be shitty, but I’ll paint you ones even better
I’ll use my paintbrush to color your heart a little less bitter
If not for art, we’d all be bitching & lonely
If not for the color, we all wouldn’t think this World to be so lovely
So this is what it feels like to paint the roses a different color
At the demand of the Queen, we’re all artists dressed as standing playing cards
So how about handing me that paintbrush?

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