I knew a boy who like to draw,
he drew pictures that noone saw.
He was most artistic at night,
in the bathrom out of sight.
He kept a secret no one knew,
he didn't tell a soul and his gallery grew.
His drawings were different, no paper or pen,
but he neeed a bandaid now and again.
We stood by the river under the stars,
he rolled up his sleeves and showed me his scars.
He felt embarrased and lke down at his shoe.
Then I rolled up my sleeves and whispered "I draw to"
