|
See her lying in my bed |
|
My pillow stuffed beneath her head |
|
Her hair is like a sea of gold |
|
I'd love to sail into her whole |
|
Kiss her lips, they're wet with spit |
|
What's more the flavor tastes like wine |
|
Stiff and something cold inside |
|
As icicles form on my spine |
|
You're very presence turns me blue |
|
It takes a hundred thousand colors to paint you |
|
And every picture that |
|
I paint doesn't capture you |
|
You're very presence turns me dear |
|
It takes a hundred thousand colors to paint you |
|
And every picture that |
|
I paint doesn't capture you |
|
See her lying in my bed |
|
My pillow stuffed beneath her head |
|
Her hair is like a sea of gold |
|
I'd love to say it her |
|
Kiss her lips, they're wet with spit |
|
It's more a flavor, taste like wine |
|
Sticking something cold inside |
|
Those eyes leave goosebumps on my spine |
|
You're very presence turns me dear |
|
It takes a hundred thousand colors to paint you |
|
And every picture that |
|
I paint doesn't capture you |
|
You're very presence turns me dear |
|
It takes a hundred thousand colors to paint you |
|
And every picture that |
|
I paint doesn't capture you |
|
You're very presence turns me dear |
|
It takes a hundred thousand colors to paint you |
|
And every picture that |
|
I paint doesn't capture you |
|
You're very presence turns me dear |
|
It takes a hundred thousand colors to paint you |
|
And every picture that |
|
I paint doesn't capture you |
