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Are we to paint what's on the face, what's inside the face, or what's behind it?

quote by Pablo Picasso
Added by Lucian Velea
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Paint Me Down

Paint me down
Paint me down
Paint me down
Im walking into studio
Consider strange appeal
Paint me in the home
Im brushing up on sketchbook
Designs for love unreal
Paint me in the home
Oil and skin youll need to buy it
Consider what I mean
She sinks beneath thr moving pictures
Prepare the brush for me
Im craving with this need
Paint me down
Paint me down
Paint me down
Im soaking up the surface
Conceaiving new idea
Paint me in the home
Shes oiling up her subject
But all still life is here
Paint me in the home
All the boys with framed dimension
A cover up on lust
Hell take his pain and paint it over
Prepare the brush for me
Im craving with this need
Paint me down
Paint me down
Paint me down

song performed by Spandau Ballet
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sign-Board

I will paint you a sign, rumseller,
And hang it above your door;
A truer and better signboard
Than ever you had before.
I will paint with the skill of a master,
And many shall pause to see
This wonderful piece of painting,
So like the reality.

I will paint yourself, rumseller,
As you wait for that fair young boy,
Just in the morning of manhood,
A mother's pride and joy.
He has no thought of stopping,
But you greet him with a smile,
And you seem so blithe and friendly,
That he pauses to chat awhile.

I will paint you again, rumseller,
I will paint you as you stand,
With a foaming glass of liquor
Extended in your hand.
He wavers, but you urge him-
Drink, pledge me just this one!
And he takes the glass and drains it,
And the hellish work is done.

And next I will paint a drunkard-
Only a year has flown,
But into that loathsome creature
The fair young boy has grown.
The work was sure and rapid.
I will paint him as he lies
In a torpid, drunken slumber,
Under the wintry skies.

I will paint the form of the mother
As she kneels at her darling's side,
Her beautiful boy that was dearer
Than all the world beside.
I will paint the shape of a coffin,
Labeled with one word-'lost,'
I will paint all this, rumseller,
And will paint it free of cost.

[...] Read more

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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The Signboard

I will paint you a sign, rumseller,
And hang it above your door;
A truer and better signboard
Than ever you had before.
I will paint with the skill of a master,
And many shall pause to see
This wonderful piece of painting,
So like the reality.

I will paint yourself, rumseller,
As you wait for that fair young boy,
Just in the morning of manhood,
A mother’s pride and joy.
He has no thought of stopping,
But you greet him with a smile
And you seem so blithe and friendly,
That he pauses a chat awhile.

I will paint you again, rumseller,
I will paint you as you stand,
With a foaming glass of liquor
Extended in your hand.
He wavers, but you urge him –
Drink, pledge me just this one!
And he takes the glass and drains it,
And the hellish work is done.

And next I will paint a drunkard –
Only a year has flown,
But into that loathesome creature
The fair young boy has grown.
The work was sure and rapid.
I will paint him as he lies
In a torpid, drunken slumber,
Under the wintry skies.

I will paint the form of the mother
As she kneels at her darling’s side,
Her beautiful boy that was dearer
Than all the world beside.
I will paint the shape of a coffin
Labelled with one word – ‘Lost’
I will paint all this, rumseller,
And will paint it free of cost.

The sin and the shame and the sorrow,
The crime and the want and the woe
That are born there in your workshop,
No hand can paint, you know
But I’ll paint you a sign, rumseller,

[...] Read more

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Fra Lippo Lippi

I am poor brother Lippo, by your leave!
You need not clap your torches to my face.
Zooks, what's to blame? you think you see a monk!
What, 'tis past midnight, and you go the rounds,
And here you catch me at an alley's end
Where sportive ladies leave their doors ajar?
The Carmine's my cloister: hunt it up,
Do—harry out, if you must show your zeal,
Whatever rat, there, haps on his wrong hole,
And nip each softling of a wee white mouse,
Weke, weke, that's crept to keep him company!
Aha, you know your betters! Then, you'll take
Your hand away that's fiddling on my throat,
And please to know me likewise. Who am I?
Why, one, sir, who is lodging with a friend
Three streets off—he's a certain...how d'ye call?
Master—a...Cosimo of the Medici,
I' the house that caps the corner. Boh! you were best!
Remember and tell me, the day you're hanged,
How you affected such a gullet's gripe!
But you, sir, it concerns you that your knaves
Pick up a manner nor discredit you:
Zooks, are we pilchards, that they sweep the streets
And count fair prize what comes into this net?
He's Judas to a tittle, that man is!
Just such a face! Why, sir, you make amends.
Lord, I'm not angry! Bid your hangdogs go
Drink out this quarter-florin to the health
Of the munificent House that harbors me
(And many more beside, lads! more beside!)
And all's come square again. I'd like his face—
His, elbowing on his comrade in the door
With the pike and lantern—for the slave that holds
John Baptist's head a-dangle by the hair
With one hand ("Look you, now," as who should say)
And his weapon in the other, yet unwiped!
It's not your chance to have a bit of chalk,
A wood-coal or the like? or you should see!
Yes, I'm the painter, since you style me so.
What, brother Lippo's doings, up and down,
You know them and they take you? like enough!
I saw the proper twinkle in your eye—
'Tell you, I liked your looks at very first.
Let's sit and set things straight now, hip to haunch.
Here's spring come, and the nights one makes up bands
To roam the town and sing out carnival,
And I've been three weeks shut within my mew,
A-painting for the great man, saints and saints
And saints again. I could not paint all night—
Ouf! I leaned out of window for fresh air.

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from Men and Women (1855)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Last Instructions to a Painter

After two sittings, now our Lady State
To end her picture does the third time wait.
But ere thou fall'st to work, first, Painter, see
If't ben't too slight grown or too hard for thee.
Canst thou paint without colors? Then 'tis right:
For so we too without a fleet can fight.
Or canst thou daub a signpost, and that ill?
'Twill suit our great debauch and little skill.
Or hast thou marked how antic masters limn
The aly-roof with snuff of candle dim,
Sketching in shady smoke prodigious tools?
'Twill serve this race of drunkards, pimps and fools.
But if to match our crimes thy skill presumes,
As th' Indians, draw our luxury in plumes.
Or if to score out our compendious fame,
With Hooke, then, through the microscope take aim,
Where, like the new Comptroller, all men laugh
To see a tall louse brandish the white staff.
Else shalt thou oft thy guiltless pencil curse,
Stamp on thy palette, not perhaps the worse.
The painter so, long having vexed his cloth--
Of his hound's mouth to feign the raging froth--
His desperate pencil at the work did dart:
His anger reached that rage which passed his art;
Chance finished that which art could but begin,
And he sat smiling how his dog did grin.
So mayst thou pérfect by a lucky blow
What all thy softest touches cannot do.

Paint then St Albans full of soup and gold,
The new court's pattern, stallion of the old.
Him neither wit nor courage did exalt,
But Fortune chose him for her pleasure salt.
Paint him with drayman's shoulders, butcher's mien,
Membered like mules, with elephantine chine.
Well he the title of St Albans bore,
For Bacon never studied nature more.
But age, allayed now that youthful heat,
Fits him in France to play at cards and treat.
Draw no commission lest the court should lie,
That, disavowing treaty, asks supply.
He needs no seal but to St James's lease,
Whose breeches wear the instrument of peace;
Who, if the French dispute his power, from thence
Can straight produce them a plenipotence..
Nor fears he the Most Christian should trepan
Two saints at once, St Germain, St Alban,
But thought the Golden Age was now restored,
When men and women took each other's word.

[...] Read more

poem by Andrew Marvell
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Spots On A Paint Rag

Spots on a paint rag trying to figure out
if they're part of a larger picture.
Daubs and smudges and smears of black and red.
Topographies of dry thick ridges of blue acrylic,
peach-coloured mesas bruised
by the encroaching violets of dusk in a painted desert.
Are these the wanna-be windows of life
who failed to achieve a whole and harmonious view
of what they're doing here swiping off knives
thick with the gore of cadmium red,
cleaning off brushes that get to go out
on the field to caress and poke
stars and trees into being? Waterboys, not players.

I say the word, life, and I feel tonight like
the heaviness of a bell that's supplanted my heart.
The right root, but the wrong blossom.
Even though I'd melt that bell
back down into raucous cannon
to defend the concept to my very last breath.
But tonight I'm tunnelling under the foundations
of the cornerstones of life to bring
the walls down on top of my head,
like an avalanche of prophetic skulls
to just get a peek inside the grand paradigm,
the white light of the gessoed underpainting.
The secret garden with low-hanging fruit
on easy street with the sacred whores of Babylon.

An existential sadness, deep as a death-wound,
as if I'd just been stabbed in the heart
by the hands of a clock that mistook me for an intruder,
undermines me from below, a pyramid built on quicksand.
As if all those who had drowned in life
like fish up over their gills in water
were swimming in the watershed of every tear
that almost makes it up over the top of the dam
I try to throw up like a manly front to what
I know I won't be able to hold back for long.

And there go the villages in the flooded valley
I tried to live among like a neighbourly mountain
come to Muhammad on the way up and down.
It's cold and lonely and the air is thin
at the peaks of experience, with only
a star and a cloud for company.
The hard diamond in the rough I used to be
has grown mushy over the years. Tears.
Imagine that. Warm, salt seas with undulant tides
of emotion coursing in and out,

[...] Read more

poem by Patrick White
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I Want To Paint

I

I want to paint
2000 dead birds crucified on a background of night
Thoughts that lie too deep for tears
Thoughts that lie too deep for queers
Thoughts that move at 186,000 miles/second
The Entry of Christ into Liverpool in 1966
The installation of Roger McGough in the Chair of Poetry at Oxford
Francis Bacon making the President's Speech at the Royal Academy dinner

I want to paint
50 life-sized nudes of Marianne Faithfull
(all of them painted from life)
Welsh Maids by Welsh Waterfalls
Heather Holden as Our Lady of Haslingden
A painting as big as Piccadilly full of neon signs and buses
Christmas decorations and beautiful girls with dark blonde hair shading their faces

I want to paint
The assassination of the entire Royal Family
Enormous pictures of every pavingstone in Canning Street
The Beatles composing a new national anthem
Brian Patten writing poems with a flamethrower on disused ferry boats
A new cathedral 50 miles high made entirely of pram wheels
An empty Woodbine packet covered in kisses
I want to paint
A picture made from the tears of dirty-faced children in Chatham Street

I want to paint
I LOVE YOU across the steps of St. George's hall
I want to paint

Pictures
II

I want to paint
The Simultaneous and Historical Faces of Death
10,000 shocking pink hearts with your name on
The phantom negro postmen who bring me money in my dreams
The first plastic daffodil of spring pushing its way
Through the OMO packets in the supermarket
The portrait of every sixth-form schoolgirl in the country
A full-scale map of the world with YOU at the centre
An enormous lily-of-the-valley with every flower on a separate canvas

Life-sized jelly babies shaped like Hayley Mills
A black-and-red flag flying over Parliament
I want to paint
Every car crash on all the motorways of England

[...] Read more

poem by Adrian Henri
Added by Poetry Lover
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Paint Dimensionality Soul In Oils

if I painted pictures
I would draw you in charcoal
wash away drama tears in watercolours
paint dimensionality of durability soul in oils
span a universe of senses touch emotions thoughts

if I painted pictures
I would paint dream images
I would paint visions of inner mind's eye
I would paint life in veils swirling kaleidoscopic moods
I would paint canvasses imprinting fabric expanding universes

but I travel eons far
load canvasses are too heavy
I walk journey through many phase worlds
seasons landscapes in many climates beckon bled feet
I paint mind songs in words life haunting edges spaces

swallow flame words into soul at own risk
I paint distances between seen unseen at world's edges
I paint portraits above beneath mask as multi veils
I paint shift faces figures skin deeds intended done deeds
I paint poetry life in shifting kaleidoscopic images souls

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Purple And Silver

frozen evenings
on me, they camp greetings
intruding me to the dark feelings
demolishing any happy traces
that i once discovered
teardropp cases, these faces
never seem to get em' outta my head
paint in purple, paint it silver

track a train
to the valley of midnight pain
which i once suffered
i still suffer
when we look back to the spring shower
they left us, leaving poison flowers
i extracted the pulp
she wrapped the words
we made a bomb
mark our words
paint them purple, paint them silver

bang bang now check this out
heavy storm outside
reminds me of one inside
tornado of tears
volcano of fears
but they had to hit
and hit they did
birth of a kid
off color white
put up a fight
listening to 9 crimes
i've been given too much time
he did his part
i broke mine fast
paint it silver
msg delivered
paint it purple
i start to crumble

over the top
the boat beneath the blue whale
river of lost got a new sail
they met the pain at the oceans date
cross the fence in senses
sit at the last bench
bury the drench

[...] Read more

poem by Talal Athar
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Woman Is The Nigger Of The World

Woman is the nigger of the world,
Yes, she is, think about it.
Woman is the nigger of the world,
Think about it, do something about it.
We make her paint her face and dance,
If she wont be a slave and say that she dont love us.
If shes real, we say shes tryin to be a man,
While puttin her down we pretend that shes above us.
Woman is the nigger of the world,
Yes, she is,
If you dont believe me, take a look at the one youre with.
Woman is the slave of the slaves,
Oh yeah, better scream about it, yeah!
We make her bear and raise our children,
And then we leave her flat for being a fat old mother hen.
We tell her home is the only place she should be,
Then we complain that shes too unworldly to be our friend.
Oh, woman is the nigger of the world,
Yes, she is,
If you dont believe me, take a look at the one youre with.
Oh, woman is the slave to the slave,
Yeah, all right.
Hit it!
We insult her evry day on tv,
And wonder why she has no guts or confidence.
When shes young, we kill her will to be free,
While tellin her not to be so smart we put her down for being so dumb.
Oh well, woman is the nigger of the world,
Yes, she is,
If you dont believe me, take a look at the one youre with.
Woman is the slave to the slaves,
Yes, she is,
If you believe, wed better scream about it!
Uh, uh, uh, hey, hey.
We make her paint her face and dance,
We make her paint her face and dance,
We make her paint her face and dance,
We make her paint her face and dance,
We make her paint her face and dance,
We make her paint her face and dance,
We make her paint her face and dance.

song performed by Yoko Ono
Added by Lucian Velea
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Woman Is The Nigger Of The World

Woman is the nigger of the world,
Yes, she is, think about it.
Woman is the nigger of the world,
Think about it, do something about it.
We make her paint her face and dance,
If she wont be a slave and say that she dont love us.
If shes real, we say shes tryin to be a man,
While puttin her down we pretend that shes above us.
Woman is the nigger of the world,
Yes, she is,
If you dont believe me, take a look at the one youre with.
Woman is the slave of the slaves,
Oh yeah, better scream about it, yeah!
We make her bear and raise our children,
And then we leave her flat for being a fat old mother hen.
We tell her home is the only place she should be,
Then we complain that shes too unworldly to be our friend.
Oh, woman is the nigger of the world,
Yes, she is,
If you dont believe me, take a look at the one youre with.
Oh, woman is the slave to the slave,
Yeah, all right.
Hit it!
We insult her evry day on tv,
And wonder why she has no guts or confidence.
When shes young, we kill her will to be free,
While tellin her not to be so smart we put her down for being so dumb.
Oh well, woman is the nigger of the world,
Yes, she is,
If you dont believe me, take a look at the one youre with.
Woman is the slave to the slaves,
Yes, she is,
If you believe, wed better scream about it!
Uh, uh, uh, hey, hey.
We make her paint her face and dance,
We make her paint her face and dance,
We make her paint her face and dance,
We make her paint her face and dance,
We make her paint her face and dance,
We make her paint her face and dance,
We make her paint her face and dance.

song performed by Yoko Ono
Added by Lucian Velea
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Paint body art beautiful

her majesty the hand
with nail graffiti polish
pain in henna red
paint in henna black
paint paint my heart

paint body art faithful
faithful to the strokes
paint in strokes divine
paint in strokes of red
paint in strokes of black
paint paint my heart

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Sam Loves Joann

(tia sillers/john tirro)
Joann was is an awkward position
Very unmarried and starting to show
Joann had wanted to be a beautician
She thought it looked like a good time to go
Got on a greyhound to ride up to macon
No one is new brunswick would quite understand
She wouldnt look at the side of the highway
Where written in spray paint said sam loves joann
Joann, joann, how could you leave your man
Im yours forever in big old blue letters
Its written in spray paint sam loves joann
Sams on his way to the state penitentiary
He doesnt know hes a father to be
Sam only wanted to borrow a chevy
But the state locked him up and they threw out the key
Sam hoped to take her away to get married
But he never asked her, so much for big plans
Now the prison bus takes him on down that same highway
Where written in spray paint sam loves joann
Joann, joann, how could you leave your man
Im yours forever in big old blue letters
Its written in spray paint sam loves joann
Funny how things from the heat of the moment
Like making a baby or getting tattooed
Last a lot longer than ever expected
Feelings might fade but the facts never do
Its all the same in the small towns and big towns
The names might change but across this great land
Just take a ride along any old highway
Its written in spray paint sam loves joann
Joann, joann, how could you leave your man
Im yours forever in big old blue letters
Its written in spray paint sam loves joann
Joann, joann, how could you leave your man
Im yours forever in big old blue letters
Its written in spray paint sam loves joann
Its written in spray paint sam loves joann
Its written in spray paint sam loves joann

song performed by Tiffany
Added by Lucian Velea
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As The Master Suggests

Wasn't it just yesterday,
It was said...
He was too incompetent to lead.
And today they hope he succeeds,
To keep them protected...
From experiencing total economic devastation.

And yes,
The situation is a mess.
But guess who's gotta clean up...
After they have treated themselves,
Less than guests.

Guess who's left to paint the veranda,
As the master suggests?
Then joke...
Sitting from a chair,
Known to be the master's favorite seat.
Overlooking the cleanup.
And sharing jokes with similar minds...
About eating fried chicken,
Watermelon.
And who commits all the crime!
Producing babies 'they' can't feed.
And guess who's left to paint the veranda?
Me!

Wasn't it just yesterday,
It was said...
He was too incompetent to lead.
And today they hope he succeeds,
To keep them protected...
From experiencing total economic devastation.

And yes,
The situation is a mess.
But guess who's gotta clean up...
After they have treated themselves,
Less than guests.
Guess who's left to paint the veranda,
As the master suggests?

And guess who's left to paint the veranda?
As the master suggests.
Guess who's left to paint the veranda?
As the master suggests.
And guess who's left to paint the veranda?
As the master suggests.
And guess who's left to paint the veranda?
As the master suggests.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Face To Face

We never talk to one another
We just disagree
Im the one who runs for cover
And you turn your back on me
They say nothings gonna last forever
But some things are worth fighting for
Yeah, well love could bring us back together
But love dont come round here no more
The words unspoken in the night
Locked away in my heart
And Im feeling out of place
But if love is the key
Let it open the door
So well be standing -- face to face
You never want to see me face to face
Think it over
Face to face
If only it could be just face to face
Baby you and me
Face to face
I may be better off without it
I cant go on this way
Time has come to talk about it
This is our judgement day
You know we swore it would last forever
Always felt so sure it would
But its looking like now or never
Time to turn a bad thing into good
The words that echo in the night
Theyre fading away
And theyre gone without a trace
Now its up to you and me
Lets open the door
And meet each other -- face to face
Its time we saw each other face to face
To talk it over
Face to face
You know its gotta be just face to face
Baby you and me
Face to face
We gotta see each other -- face to face
And talk about it
Face to face
Hope it aint too late to meet face to face
Just you and me
(solo)
Face to face
Its time we saw each other face to face
To talk it over
Face to face

[...] Read more

song performed by Foreigner
Added by Lucian Velea
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Woman Is The Nigger Of The World

Woman is the nigger of the world
Yes she is...think about it
Woman is the nigger of the world
Think about it...do something about it
We make her paint her face and dance
If she wont be a slave, we say that she dont love us
If shes real, we say shes trying to be a man
While putting her down, we pretend that shes above us
Woman is the nigger of the world...yes she is
If you dont believe me, take a look at the one youre with
Woman is the slave of the slaves
Ah, yeah...better scream about it
We make her bear and raise our children
And then we leave her flat for being a fat old mother hen
We tell her home is the only place she should be
Then we complain that shes too unworldly to be our friend
Woman is the nigger of the world...yes she is
If you dont believe me, take a look at the one youre with
Woman is the slave to the slaves
Yeah...alright...hit it!
We insult her every day on tv
And wonder why she has no guts or confidence
When shes young we kill her will to be free
While telling her not to be so smart we put her down for being so dumb
Woman is the nigger of the world
Yes she is...if you dont believe me, take a look at the one youre with
Woman is the slave to the slaves
Yes she is...if you believe me, you better scream about it
We make her paint her face and dance
We make her paint her face and dance
We make her paint her face and dance
We make her paint her face and dance
We make her paint her face and dance
We make her paint her face and dance

song performed by Lennon John
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet: Whither Thy Art, Man?

Yes, men and women, paint their eyelashes,
And dye their hair in hues and paint their nails;
And wear head-bands, multi-colored sashes,
And paint the tortoises and shells of snails.

Some paint their bodies fully or one-half;
Some paint their country’s flag over their face;
Some look like leopards, lions, clowns that laugh;
Some tattoo pictures or paint words so base.

Some paint their naked bodies as if dressed
Or apply stickers of men, Gods or beast;
Their art on human skins looks to them best
And dance in ritual for a sumptuous feast.

The art of man has gone so crazy now,
For men paint Dogs, cats, cattle, also cow.

poem by John Celes
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Seventh Book

'THE woman's motive? shall we daub ourselves
With finding roots for nettles? 'tis soft clay
And easily explored. She had the means,
The moneys, by the lady's liberal grace,
In trust for that Australian scheme and me,
Which so, that she might clutch with both her hands,
And chink to her naughty uses undisturbed,
She served me (after all it was not strange,;
'Twas only what my mother would have done)
A motherly, unmerciful, good turn.

'Well, after. There are nettles everywhere,
But smooth green grasses are more common still;
The blue of heaven is larger than the cloud;
A miller's wife at Clichy took me in
And spent her pity on me,–made me calm
And merely very reasonably sad.
She found me a servant's place in Paris where
I tried to take the cast-off life again,
And stood as quiet as a beaten ass
Who, having fallen through overloads, stands up
To let them charge him with another pack.

'A few months, so. My mistress, young and light,
Was easy with me, less for kindness than
Because she led, herself, an easy time
Betwixt her lover and her looking-glass,
Scarce knowing which way she was praised the most.
She felt so pretty and so pleased all day
She could not take the trouble to be cross,
But sometimes, as I stooped to tie her shoe,
Would tap me softly with her slender foot
Still restless with the last night's dancing in't,
And say 'Fie, pale-face! are you English girls
'All grave and silent? mass-book still, and Lent?
'And first-communion colours on your cheeks,
'Worn past the time for't? little fool, be gay!'
At which she vanished, like a fairy, through
A gap of silver laughter.
'Came an hour
When all went otherwise. She did not speak,
But clenched her brows, and clipped me with her eyes
As if a viper with a pair of tongs,
Too far for any touch, yet near enough
To view the writhing creature,–then at last,
'Stand still there, in the holy Virgin's name,
'Thou Marian; thou'rt no reputable girl,
'Although sufficient dull for twenty saints!
'I think thou mock'st me and my house,' she said;
'Confess thou'lt be a mother in a month,

[...] Read more

poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Paint The World

It's like a chain reaction
Misunderstanding every word
It's like a train to nowhere
And everyone gets hurt
And maybe if I paint the world.. black
And maybe if I paint the world.. white
Cause you don't seem to see it quite like I do
And we don't seem to see it eye to eye
We never go the distance
We just [..] in the dirt
And I could say I'm sorry
But I want you to say it first
And maybe if I paint the world.. black
And maybe if I paint the world.. white
Cause you don't seem to see it quite like I do
And we don't seem to see it eye to eye
This is so stupid
This is all so lame
This is so stupid
Playing these games
Everything is unfocused
Everything is stained
This is so stupid
Playing these games
Well I could learn to fake it
And you could learn to bruise
And maybe we can make it
But then it's easier to lose
And maybe if I paint the world.. black
And maybe if I paint the world.. white
Cause you don't seem to see it quite like I do
And we don't seem to see it eye to eye
This is so stupid
This is all so lame
This is so stupid
Playing these games
Everything is unfocused
Everything's in pain
This is so stupid
Maybe if I paint the world.. black
And maybe if I paint the world.. white
Cause you don't seem to feel it quite like I do
And we don't seem to see it eye to eye

song performed by Heather Nova
Added by Lucian Velea
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Paint

Don't paint me red,
Red is for bold women that use cheap scent

Don't paint me blue
Blue is for sadness and regret

Don't paint me green
Green is for envy and not to be seen

Don't paint me black
black is for the night and I love the light

Don't paint me white
White is for virgins and me, I love a flirtin'

Don't paint me orange
Orange is vile and I have some style

Don't paint me brown or grey or cream
these colours are boring and really not me.

Paint me in silver, platinum or gold
so I remain precious as I grow old.

poem by Ruth Walters
Added by Poetry Lover
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