If there is a thought outside of the world
That makes you more than a blue little girl
Beneath every freckle that covers your skin
There is a painter who colors it in
And once you have emptied your occupied head
You will perceive all the hues that are dead
These are the ones that belong in their grave
Fighting the clock for the lives that they claim
See, yours was the canvas they wanted to mark
To cover the light with everything dark
So take off your gloves and uncover your hands
Then pick up the brush that your portrait demands