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Nothingful
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Tendonitis
Before the bad words, we were a scrapbook
The picture of perfection
We painted our portrait with pleasure
with one brush, our hands tied at the tendon
Breathe in breath out, the tide of perfection
there's no rush, all good things end in sorrow
but there's always tomorrow
A mixture of paints for your complexion
Chalk it up to natural selection
Now I'm here at the ocean, wishing waves could move,
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everything's a still life and nothing's forgiving
Beneath there's no motion, fishing can save , or prove
that there's still a life worth living
We ain't tied together!
but we're painted forever
I've always been an unfortunate
But at least I have our portrait
There's always tomorrow
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