Boya

Boya Boya There's a white canvas, should it stay that way? I have every color but I never paint Things look fine from afar Just like a Monet Smiling is easy Why is it hard today? If the soul is the canvas Then life is the paint I hold the brush and I will I will create A little red for for the rose the rose that died A lotta blue for all the tears on a blurry night And then purple purple butterflies They fly out of my sight Happy yellow for the sun that doesn't shine A little black like like the starless sky And then green for the trees that know my mind better than I Boya Boya Boya Boya This painting's not bad but Simply misunderstood Opinions they matter But how do you dare to judge? If the soul is the canvas Then life is the paint I hold the brush and I will I will create A little red for for the rose the rose that died A lotta blue for all the tears on a blurry night And then purple purple butterflies They fly out of my sight Happy yellow for the sun that doesn't shine A little black like like the starless sky And then green for the trees that know my mind better than I My story's buried in the paint I think my life has a million shades Real art go put it in a gallery I love to paint I I love to paint Boya Boya