Art Type

In a cold November she paints a warm December

She starts to soak her paintbrush

Won't catch her wearing make up

The saddest things all the canvas she paints

And writes folk songs but everything is wrong

I'll just make her into something great

She's an art type I served a little purpose

I've just barely scratched the surface

She would spy the window where inspiration can't flow

Potential she may not know but she's a virtual picasso

She makes my face she leaves without a trace

We both know she can't stay in one place

Cause this romance we sketched out in one night

She's an art type she keeps her feelings bottled

Now they're coming out full throttle

Maybe someday she'll put her hard work on display

The saddest things )

In a gallery

All the canvas she paints )

Oh

Writes folk songs )

For all the world to see

But everything is wrong )

She's alone but

I'll just make her into something great

She's an art type I'm left with this family a picture of what could be