images on the sidewalk speak of dream´s decent
washed away by storms to graves of cynical lament
dirty canvases to call my own
protest limericks carved by the old pay phone

in your picture book i´m trying hard to see
turning endless pages of this tragedy
sculpting every move you compose a symphony
you plead to everyone, "see the art in me"
broken stained-glass windows, the fragments ramble on
tales of broken souls, an eternity´s been won
as critics scorn the thoughts and works of mortal man
my eyes are drawn to you in awe once again
in your picture book i´m trying hard to see
turning endless pages of this tragedy
sculpting every move you compose a symphony
you plead to everyone, "see the art in me"