I remember when life wasn't just a painting.
When love was alive and dreams had dimension.
Now this still-life landscape is an eternal winter.
The snow doesn't sparkle and memories are forgotten.
Maybe one day the brushstrokes will cease,
maybe the artist will break free
from his imprisoned canvas.
'Til that day I'm stuck in his apathetic craft. . .
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 4:12 PM UTC
I remember when life wasn't just a painting.
When love was alive and dreams had dimension.
Now this still-life landscape is an eternal winter.
The snow doesn't sparkle and memories are forgotten.
Maybe one day the brushstrokes will cease,
maybe the artist will break free
from his imprisoned canvas.
'Til that day I'm stuck in his apathetic craft. . .