And she draws little stars on her fingers,

In black pen ink,

And as her palms sweat,

While he touches her,

She leaves black little stars all over his body,

In all the places he is broken.


She sought solstice in her pain,

She sought comfort in his arms,

She sought amusement from the falling rain,

She sought love from a statue,

That had a heart of stone,

That had a heart of a living man.


And the little stars on her fingers fade away,

There's no way that the little bits of black ink can stay,

After she'd covered his and her body with little stars,

Some smudged to they looked like they were shooting,

It was her best masterpiece of real life art,

When she fell in love with a statue:


When she fell in love with pain,

When she found comfort in his arms,

When she found amusement from dancing in the rain,

When she fell in love with a statue,

That was really a living man.


A living man, who put the color in her life,

A living man who taught her to see past shades of gray,

A living man made of stone.

A living man, that was really a statue.