Painted wings can't make a man fly,
Do not ask of me why.

These painted wings are treasured things,
A work of art, born of a near sisters heart.

I wish you knew but at least I know,
There's really no length to which I wouldn't go.

Don't ask of me how to create this beauty,
For I am just the model, not an artist so colossal.

Always climbing, going higher,
As your fear and pleasure fuel my fire.
Ask of me what I desire?
I fear to answer and so I climb higher.

These wings of hers, they bring me hope,
As we climb this ascending *****.

The paint begins to fade and crack,
I'm losing the wings put on my back.

The onlooker, just here to see,
She brings out the good in me.

These painted wings won't bring me things;
Oh how I love it when she sings.