Boya, Boya

There’s a white canvas

Should it stay that way?

I have every color

But I never paint

Things look fine from afar

Just like a Monet

Smiling is easy

Why is it hard today?

If the soul is the canvas

Then life is the paint

I hold the brush

And I will

I will create

A little red for for the rose the rose that died

A lotta blue for all the tears on a blurry night

And then purple purple butterflies

They fly out of my sight

Happy yellow for the sun that doesn’t shine

A little black like like the starless sky

And then green for the trees that know my mind better than I

Boya, Boya

Boya, Boya

This painting's not bad but

Simply misunderstood

Opinions they matter

But how do you dare to judge?

If the soul is the canvas

Then life is the paint

I hold the brush

And I will

I will create

A little red for for the rose the rose that died

A lotta blue for all the tears on a blurry night

And then purple purple butterflies

They fly out of my sight

Happy yellow for the sun that doesn’t shine

A little black like like the starless sky

And then green for the trees that know my mind better than I

My story’s buried in the paint

I think my life has a million shades

Real art go put it in a gallery

I love to paint I

I love to paint

Boya, Boya