You say you've been looking for an artist,
One to paint your world anew.
You say you've been searching for the rightness
To wash the colour from your blue.
You tell me all the things you tell me,
A pinch off every sordid scratch.
If I'm a puzzle piece, I fit...
But I can cut the excess back.
Something in the look you toss me,
How you flaunt your stare so well,
That I could not really tell you of
A dismal heart made to impel.
For everything I hold dear ground to,
Somehow I hope that nothing gives.
I can tell you'll do just fine here,
You say you've been looking for an artist.