Colour Of A Man - The Hidden Cameras

Colour of a man chiseled in stone

Is the marker of a man ridded by woe

It is the colour of a man stuck in his grey

And the mood of his brood that he has painted on

His face is painted on with pools of clay

And the blood of an animal run astray

He is the colour of a man who plays in sport

And the wisdom of his words are simply taken on

He covers me with ash and falls asleep

I’m whispering the words that he has grown to love

Words can have a way to pull the string

A 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 trophies

Than to live with a man who craves the cold

And to be the one that has to ask for every dole

Stone men stand as if they own the place

The power that they lack it has been painted on

Worshiping them is the only way

Creating worth from ash that greys the every pore

Is colouring the man with what he thinks he knows

The colour is infectious like the na ne nee ne na nee oh

I feel the weakness of his wishy-washy ways

In the rhythm of his hips as he pretends to love

And the heavy set of steps that stomp away

Such that is the colour of a manimalninamimalnimanimalnimanimal