There is a boy
That sits by the window
He sleeves from his hoodie are
Always rolled down.
He likes to draw
He likes to hide
Although I've caught him once or twice
With his sleeves rolled up he draws a
Picture.
Silently I watch from a far
Awaiting the right moment
For me to share my pretty painting
On my  wrist and my thigh
After that we never leave each other side