Time would stop and in silence shake when I'd shape my 
arm around your waist. And though nighttime brought your 
heaviest freight, some did never sleep, some did never 
wake. The portrait curled in violets and blues carried 
all my best from my brush to you. Framed on your wall in 
the daybreak hush, it saw all our troubles come alive 
with us. Move on, move on! It's been so long and I don't 
have the tears for that now. Move on, move on! It's been 
so long and I don't have the tears for the years you've 
had so many tumbling down. Oh, my breath is all but dead; 
no, alcohol won't cure no head. Lying on my back as the 
daylight grew; the portrait helped me see the worst in 
you. So, I'm your secret locked up in the box where you 
keep your hopeless serenades and your knives with my name 
on them? Who's now your soldier standing starboard aboard 
the ship you keep trapped inside the bottle of your 
discontent amid your fears and allegations?