I've painted over this canvas one too many times.
I'm running out of colors, I'm running out of ryhmes.

My brush is losing bristles, my hands are losing faith.
This wooden frame is shattered, splitting at the seams.
I don't know if I'll ever, reframe all my dreams.
In my mind they scatter, haunt me like a wraith.

I've painted over this canvas one too many times.
I'm running out of colors, I'm running out of ryhmes.

The paint layers are cracking, my heart is turned to stone.
That heavy burden peeling, again I'm all alone.