I only know my idle shows
When the beads fall down my back
The more I show my colors
The more my favorite's black.

It surrenders to the drain
No symmetry, no pain
And I wonder why
I can't wash away like that
When the people that I've come to know
Would rather
Let their idle show
It paints one of the colors that I lack

If you could drag a brush through time
Smother it, and stroke a line
I'd want it to be solid
And precise

Cause when you soak the paper through
With a wet brush with little hue
You think that I see something
Then it rips, and I see you

Let's skip the part where
You pretend to care
Cause your kind of cruelty's very rare

So with peace of mind
I'll wave and smile
And won't save you from your self denial