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Through the windows of your officesjunipers lay soft with lazy snow.And in your apartment, paintbrushesgrew hardened in their disuse long agothe colours rusted closed.Make art. Focus and create art.You work just to display artthat's completely beneath you.Stationed amidst your obligations.I'm dying for the day when you admit you need it, too.Some instruments flawed in small ways,broken strings or cracks from constant moves.They get buried in your storage space.Though easily repaired, that's your excusethat they never get used.Make art. Focus and create art.You work just to display artthat's completely beneath you.Stationed amidst your obligations.I'm dying for the day when you admit you need it.Absolutes that charmed you in your youthappeared harmful as you grew.And though they've been abused,these fundamental truths still require things from you. Aus Songtexte Mania