Like in ancient painting passed its prime You're the only picture in my mind, And you sleeping so peacefully In a far of the world where you're mine. And in the quiet hours of the dark There is a statute of you in my heart, Made of pan coats and a honey too I spend the lifetime resurrecting you. You're the open sign never derived again, never refinishing the end You're the masterpiece lost inside my head, never resound again. And I've tried to paint your eyes once more Like I've never captured the true form. Still I see you and I feel you, Till my paintbrush splatters to the floor.