If I had a bag of makers
I'd color all over my black converse
But all I have is this stupid box of crayons
Sixty - four waxy frowns
If I had a couple sharpies, I'd write on everything I own
I'd write down everywhere all I've ever known
But all I have are these dull color pencils
Hardly an artist's stencil
If I a pen
I'd ink deep into the dephs of my lover
But if I screw up, it's there permantly
God, help me
Ok, so I'll use a stinking pencil
Erasable, my training wheels
Why is the road to satisfactory
So god damn far away?
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