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I'm painting the hopes living in your stare
The clouds passing by in the calm cool air
The dirt and the leaves hanging on your knees
I'm a painter, a poet, a prophet, a priest

I'm painting the sadness that you hold
The prideful look of a full blossomed rose
The lock on your heart and its missing key
I'm a painter, a poet, a prophet, a priest

And I can be what I don't want to be
And I can go where I don't want to go
And yes I see but I don't want to see
And yes I know but I don't want to know

I'm painting the softness of your hair
The trees in the winter with nothing to wear
The rain falling into the vacancy
I'm a painter, a poet, a prophet, a priest

I'm painting the darkness in your lies
The sound of your footsteps walking by
The mountains bent, broken, and creased
I'm a painter, a poet, a prophet, a priest

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