Hidden Cameras (The)
Colour of a Man
Colour of a man chiseled in stoneis the marker of a man ridded by woeIt is the colour of a man stuck in his greyand the mood of his brood that he has painted onHis face is painted on with pools of clayand the blood of an animal run astrayHe is the colour of a man who plays in sportAnd the wisdom of his words are simply taken onHe covers me with ash and falls asleepI'm whispering the words that he has grown to loveWords can have a way to pull the stringA grunting of the "ifs" and "fs" and then the "oh"It is simpler when I think about being no more than one of his many trophiesthan to live with a man who craves the coldand to be the one that has to ask for every doleStone men stand as if they own the placeThe power that they lack it has been painted onWorshiping them is the only wayCreating worth from ash that greys the every poreis colouring the man with what he thinks he knowsThe colour is infectious like the na ne nee ne na nee ohI feel the weakness of his wishy-washy waysin the rhythm of his hips as he pretends to loveand the heavy set of steps that stomp awaySuch that is the colour of a manimalninamimalnimanimalnimanimal
From Letras Mania