Painter - Opia

If I were to paint you, tell me where I would begin

When you defy every color, shape and style

What’s the center of your body?

What’s the essence of your skin?

What tragedy do you hide beneath your smile?

And every time I start to sketch, I lose the larger image

You aren’t your eyes, your clothing or your hair

Like a longer lasting feeling, without a start, without a finish

I can’t paint the wind but I know it’s there

I guess there’s just some things you can’t explain

I guess there’s just some things you can’t explain

And if I were a writer, I’d get lost in metaphor

Write a thousand books that wouldn’t sell

And if no one ever reads them, then what’s all the writing for?

I guess it’s just a comfort to myself

Like a wedding in the middle of a hurricane

Like a funeral on a perfect summer’s day

If you tried too hard to define it, lose the thread and go insane

I guess there’s just some things you can’t explain