My eyes are gray,
My skin is white,
My wrists leak red.
The color's draining fast,
From me to you,
I don't paint the town,
Instead I paint you.
Blue becomes purple,
Green turns yellow.
I've got my pallete,
The colors of my wind.
Now I'm soaring,
Flying above,
As you call out from below.
Yelling,
"It wasn't your time to go."
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 7:10 PM UTC
My eyes are gray,
My skin is white,
My wrists leak red.
The color's draining fast,
From me to you,
I don't paint the town,
Instead I paint you.
Blue becomes purple,
Green turns yellow.
I've got my pallete,
The colors of my wind.
Now I'm soaring,
Flying above,
As you call out from below.
Yelling,
"It wasn't your time to go."
