The walls are talking and the only person who can hear me is nearly gone. I stand by your bedside, on the edge of words That I can't say, for the fear that I might fall. Maybe I'm afraid that the pictures that I paint, Won't capture the beauty of you. And the last thing that you hear is the silence in your ears, As I sink beneath the weight of it all.
I could call you my lover, call you a beast, Call you the island, where faith doesn't reach. Call you a lion, call you a man, You're the line that ties me to things. I don't understand.
Your smile as you wither, is as pretty as the picture, You wouldn't sell to the lady next door. You tell me music and art, it doesn't have a price, It's for the heart, I should give it away, Use it for the freedom of us all.
I could call you my lover, call you a beast, Call you the island, where faith doesn't reach. Call you a lion, call you a man, You're the line that ties me to things. I don't understand.