Painting Box

When the morning of your eyes comes waking through my shadows

Leaving just a trace of twilight sleep,

I whisper to the baby raindrops playing on my window,

And tell them gently this is not the time that they should weep.

For somewhere in my mind there is a painting box,

I have every color there it's true.

Just lately when I look inside my painting box,

I seem to pick the colors of you.

My Friday evening's foot-steps plodding dully through this black town,

Are far away now from the world that I'm in.

My eyes are listening to some sounds that I think just might be springtime,

With daffodils between my toes I'm laughing at their whim,

And somewhere in my mind there is a painting box,

I have every color there it's true,

Just lately when I look inside my painting box,

I seem to pick the colors of you.

Oh somewhere in my mind there is a painting box,

I have every color there it's true.

Just lately when I look inside my painting box,

I seem to pick the colors of you.

The purple sail above me catches all the strength of summer.

Fishes stop and ask me where I am bound.

I smile and shake my head and say my little ship is sinking,

But I kind of like the sea that I'm on, and I don't mind if I do drown.

For somewhere in my mind there is a painting box,

I have every color there it's true.

Just lately when I look inside my painting box,

I seem to pick the colors of you.