| Pictures on my wall
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| Fifteen different colours
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| Starting with vermillion-
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| The first flower of the summer
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| And don’t think I’ll be finished
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| Till I’ve begun to understand this
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| With you stretched out in the sunlight
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| As your laughter fills my canvas
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| The sun falls in my fingers
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| On your back against the blinds
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| It’s tracing out your hollows
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| It is filling in your lines
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| There your curl finds your spiral
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| As you silhouette the window
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| When my brush forgives itself
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| Spills lines upon your pillow
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| Finds you standing in the middle
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| Of the lines you’ve laid down before
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| Try to trace my picture into yours
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| Let me paint you in the corner
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| As your shoulders trap the light
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| See the sunset feeling golden
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| On the wineskins of the night
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| I have seen your eyes in paintings
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| As Cathedrals cried Hosanna
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| Let me paint your face in frescos
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| Hang your hair like angel-abra
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| See you standing in the middle
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| Of lines you laid down before
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| Try to paint my picture into yours
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| In the morning let me find you
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| As I call to you by name
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| Your body warm beside me
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| Not imprisoned in a frame
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| I could never find the colours
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| Or the light that finely paints you
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| With those roses in your hair
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| Smell of wine, immortal perfume
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| As you’re standing in the middle
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| Of lines you laid down before
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| Tryin' to paint my picture into yours |