Would’ve lived if I never left? 

Vinyl on the shelf, the cigarette on the desk, the smell of pastels.
Midnight stars ignite your heart. 
The heat goes to the sky, and your mind is burning down.
It’s time to draw your life, the brush paints the guy in the frame.
Blues, grays, and maroon make your new muse
Will it be your last chance? 
Will you be brave to hide your lies? 
Will it be another fraud? 
The art always sees the light, I'm not your kill-time guy. 

2 feet apart, is a risk to say goodbye.
Shaking hands is a safe caress.
I close my eyes when I see a shooting star,
I wish you had grabbed me with your arms, but it would’ve been our last sunrise.
I promise I will be the guy on the shelf in the back of your head.
I’m always in the room until you need to paint your grayest days.
Running and hunting, I'll be the prey.
Would you be the hunter or the arrow?
The rain and mud mess up the gold in the frame.
The dust and rust take the color of my face.

We danced in your lonely house, always in the dark.
Still, you should turn on the lights and take me down off the wall.
Show them, that the whispers made bruises for your evil cynism.
Bushstrokes of fear, trying to repair the cracks in my soul.
They´re scars that will remind me of when I was trying to be the love of your life.  
Now I had these shades in my colors, looks old for a young boy.
Start your new art, run from the harsh truth of a cowardly man.
You can´t be a real one.

December stars and the shine in her hand.
Everyone has a word to say to the new pair of Saint Peter Bay.
With the glitter in the air, and the alcohol in their veins, it is time to celebrate, the pretender gets his golden chain.
Is this the way to escape from your deepest wishes?
I'm knocking from the basement, is a dark place for a piece who gave you his heart.
I'm used to this frame, it's ok to shut up my thoughts and let him live his life, and be the secret he will never talk about.  
You wrote your name in the corner of the linen, I'm yours but you´re not mine. 
25, not old enough to settle down, 19, grown enough to be in your lap. 
Sitting on a pier, pretending you would've been painting my face again, the mold covering my hand I can't lie to myself...

This work of art gets lost in time.

I was your box of lies.
I was your fearless guy, 
I'm your favorite crime.
I'm the boy in the frame.
I'm stuck in his mind.
Would you remember this guy?

I’ll be here for a lifetime.