On blank canvas with trembling hand he will begin
He will paint what lies beneath, what lies within
He will lift the tired brush his life long friend
To paint a dying picture, the beginning of his end
Unseeing eyes can't choose his shades for blind is he
That's why he paints with love from memory
With quiet strength he paints in every shade of pain
Each shade a prayer to bring her back to him again
His greatest work the finest colours are just for her
Each tender stroke a silent wish for things that were
A broken man, a lonely heart in every hue
A quiet scream in every green, in every blue
Each colour pure, no stroke he paints can ever taint her
A parting gift, in the colours of love from the memory painter.
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