Paint

Paint Trying to be something it ain’t The very source for the beloved word hate Guys, we’ve been painting like this for awhile now So open a window before I faint Paint’s supposed to be great But the colors still don’t seem to blend we’ll have to wait And I’m growing impatient… These walls are secretly covered in blue My veins are filled, to the maximum capacity, with the bluest paint you’ve ever seen So are his, so are hers, so are yours And sometimes the paint pours But the blue wears out and red’s the new coat Now the walls are red It’s like we’re the same entity Man there must be something wrong with my head Was it a dream? A nightmare cloud of nothing I’ve ever seen? … Then it hit me like a brick in the face I dozed off in the middle of a “race” And Poor Humanity couldn’t keep pace And that sucks because I was rooting for him But that good ole’ hate was about to take first place As he crossed the finished line, more paint spilled from its can Blue paint turned to red again A Paintbrush was sharpened and used as a knife It wasn’t a dream, it was life… This doesn’t make sense My mind is dizzy… Why must the Paint run? Why does it slowly drip from the barrel of my gun? Why do I hold a gun? Why am I painting these walls red? NO! Now these walls are dead And so are yours and so are his and so are hers If I don’t stop, than it’s ugly walls for all… I think this is an epiphany! … The first coat of paint is always the same color All walls are identical in the beginning The second coat is not always a different color than someone else’s but it’s not always the same It hides the first coat from sight That deep blue that, if coaxed, transforms into red And that coat should never seep through Because the second coat is what make the walls beautiful No matter the color of the walls of the house you call home