So white, so cold, it beckons for another stroke. From brush of who would see it in another light. To paint the vision held in never ending hope. And once again give birth to dreams in colors that will give them flight.
To dream, to see, to know what can and should be done To hold, so close, yet never touch that altruistic dream Like vapors painting figures where there once was none On canvas that reverts to just an empty scene
Well I can see in your eyes you’ve been hurting No one seems to care That your lonely heart has been yearning No one’s ever there Are you looking for consolation You’ve got nowhere left to turn And the city around …
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