C F C F
I have a friend, he's mostly made of paint
C F C F
He wakes up, drives to work and straight back home again
C F C F
He once cut one of my nightmares out of paper
C F C F
I thought it was beautiful, I put it on a record cover
G C F
And I tried to tell him that he had a sense
G C F
Of color and composition so magnificent
F G F G
And he said thank you, please, but your flattery
F G F G
It is truly not becoming me
F G F G
Your eyes are poor, you're blind, you see
F G F G
No beauty ever could have come from me
C F
I'm a waste
C F C F C F
Of breath, of space, of time