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Opia
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If I were to paint you, tell me where I would begin When you defy every color, shape and style What's the center of your body? What's the essence of your skin? What tragedy do you have beneath your smile? And every time I start to sketch, I lose the larger image You aren't your eyes, your clothing or your hair Like a longer lasting feeling, without a start, without a finish I can't paint the wind but I know it's there I guess there's just things you can't explain I guess there's just things you can't explain And If I to rhyme, I'd get lost in metaphor Writing a thousand books that wouldn't sell And if no one ever reads them, then what's all the writing for? I guess it's just a comfort to myself Like a wedding in the middle of a hurricane Like a funeral on the perfect summer's day If you tried too hard to define it, lose the thread and go insane I guess there's just things you can't explain Like a wedding in the middle of a hurricane Like a funeral on the perfect summer's day If you tried too hard to define it, lose the thread and go insane I guess there's just things you can't explain
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