I painted a picture of my love~
with golden strokes of elation~
i painted a picture of my love~
a picture of ale tainted creation~
i painted a picture of my love~
however my brow now drops~
because my picture of my love~
because the love now stops~
i painted a picture of my love~
but dissapointment played like a toy~
for this picture of my love~
is only a restriction of my joy~

so i sculpt your beauty with my bare hands~
these hands that held you near~
a sculpture of your beauty~
the hands that paid for your jeweled ear~
i sculpted your beauty with my bare hands~
with the touch that cupped your breasts~
i sculpted your soul embodied~
but within it didnt thump my chest~
so i sculpted your beauty with my bare hands~
but dissapointment played me like a toy~
for this sculpture of your beauty~
is only a restriction of my joy~

so i wrote a tale of our passion~
for our eyes alone to share~
i wrote a tale of our passion~
with as much as i could bare~
i wove a tale of our passion~
wrote us holding hands in the park~
put on paper how we make love~
u slowly moaning in the dark~
and yet words cannot contain~
the love i have for you~
so this woven tale of passion~
is a waste and always after you~

so i gathered my courage~
and you called me your king~
when i gathered up the money~
i gathered you a ring~
a ring to paint our love~
a ring to sculpt your looks~
a ring to tell of our passion~
a ring for things not held in books~
so as i take you to my room~
and give you the best of me~
i gaze deeply in your eyes~
and fall down to my knee~
your gaze could not be found by mine~
your eyes floated like a dove~
as you left the room i cried to myself~
this is a picture of my love~

1luv.