There's always turpentine
Heartache smeared across one cheek & paint under my nails.
Baby don't be jealous, you're still the one that gets under my s.k.i.n
When I'm just sitting like I've got forever. (I'm just so full on you)
It's just one of those moments,
Surrounded by white emptiness beginnings
& I'm not so good with introductions,
Starting again instead of running away
But I guess I got left behind.
Paintbrushes at my feet and canvas in my hands
Oh little Miss Renoir tell me, are we leaving an impression or just expressing a few tears
But you won't tell me if we've created a beginning or the e.n.d
(The critics need something to write, you know.)
When I'm creating art out of a little piece of misery
Because we all know artist thrive on the smell of pain(t)
But I know there's always turpentine
Because baby, I can erase you if I try.