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Description
You listen to my words to hear the story of my art
But my words can not convey the secret of my heart

I paint for you a picture, I paint it all in shades of grey
You say you love it and forget it before the end of the day

I sing for you a song who’s melody is sad and slow
You tell me that’s it’s music though no song that you know

How many ways can I tell you the truth about my heart?
How many days will you only see the surface of the art?

The plays we enjoy are commixing to and end
The stage that we act upon needs a new beginning

I take you to a place a place that we can not know
We sit upon the summer grass discussing winter snow

This end started in the beginning
And a beginning grows form the end

And thought my heart be a mystery that my words can not show
At least for now we’re friends sitting here talking about the snow

Description
You listen to my words to hear the story of my art
But my words can not convey the secret of my heart

I paint for you a picture, I paint it all in shades of grey
You say you love it and forget it before the end of the day

I sing for you a song who’s melody is sad and slow
You tell me that’s it’s music though no song that you know

How many ways can I tell you the truth about my heart?
How many days will you only see the surface of the art?

The plays we enjoy are commixing to and end
The stage that we act upon needs a new beginning

I take you to a place a place that we can not know
We sit upon the summer grass discussing winter snow

This end started in the beginning
And a beginning grows form the end

And thought my heart be a mystery that my words can not show
At least for now we’re friends sitting here talking about the snow