Painter

Crazy, crazy, crazy
He paints his mind with ink
It makes the world keep wondering
Who is he?
Lonely, lonely, lonely
He drills the earth with his feet
He doesn’t care if the sky is raging
His mission is to keep digging
Sleepy, sleepy, sleepy
Tired eyes with expression of steel
He doesn’t want to admit or give in
There’s always something to be revealed
Red, blue, and green
He paints his home with ink
His sadness with blue deep
His happiness with orange sweet
Purple, magenta, and pink
He’s still looking for something indefinite
Something so white that he needs to see
So he can paint it with his ink

And it still makes the world wonder
How does one person decide which color
to mark the undefined in his own universe?
Sometimes it also makes himself wonder
But his ink always manages to fill in the questions
He paints his heart with ink of judgement
Everything he sees he put on it a color
Who is he and why paint with colors?
But you see, he’s not the only one who’s a painter
You can find another painter when you look at a mirror

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