Even My Paint Brush Weeps
Sitting next to a vacant canvas,
Thinking of all their past.
So, I picked up the paint brush
To wipe all the colourful rust.
The red one cries, sometimes.
Sometimes the green one.
The black was a warrior of every fights,
But my desire weeps all the nights.
Now I'm painting a tear
Which has no colour.
So, I'm drawing it with mine
Your tears are now nine.
My paint brush weeps when I recall you,
My white canvas wins when I draw you.
You're only the vibrant colour
When, I wanted you to be my Amour.
