Images on the sidewalk speak of dream´s decent
Washed away by storms to graves of cynical lament
Dirty canvases to call my own
Protest limericks carved by the old pay phone

In your picture book I´m trying hard to see
Turning endless pages of this tragedy
Sculpting every move you compose a symphony
You plead to everyone, "see the art in me"

Broken stained-glass windows, the fragments ramble on
Tales of broken souls, an eternity´s been won
As critics scorn the thoughts and works of mortal man
My eyes are drawn to you in awe once again

In your picture book I´m trying hard to see
Turning endless pages of this tragedy
Sculpting every move you compose a symphony
You plead to everyone, "see the art in me"