I have written the words to this song at least a dozen 
times,
Sad love songs need to be polished, they need to rhyme.
You have no focus, you just sleep all day.
One hundred pieces of incomplete art, that are all on 
their way
I look back and wonder: Was is hard to always say the 
right thing?
Was it hard for you to be, constantly charming?
To romance me every waking moment of the day.
Were you trying your hardest? It certainly felt that 
way.
It must have been so hard, to keep all that up.
Now you're exhausted, so you give up.
From February cold, to April raining.
And I am just another one of your unfinished paintings
Are you afraid if you finish a piece of art, that it 
wouldn't be beautiful?
Are you afraid if you stayed, I couldn't love the real 
you?
Are you afraid if you reach out, that you might get 
burned?
You can't live only to please others, eventually you 
have to take your turn.
I look back and wonder: Was is hard to always say the 
right thing?
Was it hard for you to be, constantly charming?
To romance me every waking moment of the day.
Were you trying your hardest? It certainly felt that 
way.
It must have been so hard, to keep all that up.
Now you're exhausted, so you give up.
From February cold, to April raining.
And I am just another one of your unfinished paintings
I have always created messy art, you never need to be 
perfect for me.