My mother is painting the kitchen black
With black flowers and music swelling through the curtains
I can\'t breathe in this house, overflowing in reds
Hanging seashells and snails from the windowsill
Thumbs replaced by dew-covered thimbles
I\'ve made a place to put my fears when I am feeling small
By the moonlit fireplace, the ashes of my dead dog
I go there at night and remember the way it was, our song
Dancing in the soft sands of childhood colours
Everything becomes a memory fading as we grow older
I don\'t know how to talk to her and I feel so alone
Watching my sisters playing in ribbons of sweet laughter
The canvas rests silently on the easel.