The days are coloured, the days are coloured Painted by numbers with dirty little fingers The trail and error, the trail and error Put me away from this fleeting exterior Will I leave her in the distance? Out there hiding, where are you hiding? As a monkey, dancing faster, eating traces of disaster Will I wash my hands of me? Point to yourself The days are coloured.... Its been greasepaint in canisters Its what Im not that breaks me faster Running away from the paper The tallest tales are the letters Will I wash my hands of me? Point to yourself If I bend my hands back enough What can I pull out of my blood? All the stories that my spirit run away from Have they erased me? Will I wash my hands of me?
coloured, wash, error, faster, hand