The Painter

If a picture could say a thousand words

Would there be a need for borders

And frames of emptiness

You light up the dark side of my church

Of souls and angels ghosts of old

Burnt to ashes

Shapes of gray won't chase these clouds and rain away

Of cruel intentions dripping poison from your touch

Your strokes on my canvas felt like

Heaven's down on earth

But when I look into your painted eyes

I know you're no Picasso

Everything's dead and passed on by

Blood and ink will all be dry

With covered up truths and lies

Daggers with hair of silver and gold

Make needlework on painted skin

Oh how we bleed

Shapes of gray won't chase these clouds and rain away

Your cruel intentions like a knife right through my heart

Do you see the Mona Lisa smiles at you

Our starry starry nights all splashed with black and blue

Oh my madonna