Tall Tales

The days are colored, the days are colored

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 colored&.

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?