She Came to Paint

She came to paint, but colour’s dead
No aubergine, no sign of red
She wants to talk, but she’s unsound
her words are dust from underground

Who wants to see with open eyes?
Who wants to see your open arms?
Who’s blinded from the answer?

He sifts through sand in search of stones
and thinks that cuts might bleed some hope
but he’s tired of red
and he’s tired of the piercing edge
He’s so alone

She wants to see with open eyes
He wants to see your open arms
they’re blinded from the answer