Notebook

I showed him my notebook The underside of my soul Released in scribbles on pages He smiled and held my hand I knew that he would see For he dreams of touching beauty too There has to be more than the workday He's painting houses He's painting houses for a while I'm home to his canvas Coming to life I write in my notebook With feeling that takes me by surprise And thoughts that I don't know I have They're hidden by useless facts That I've compiled at the office where I work Where there is no time for feeling anything You see, I just work there to finance my real life That begins with scribbles on pages And thoughts of how and when Museums on Sundays Whenever we, can we both go And stay there for hours Feeding our spirits And beauty is still free And beauty is not exclusive And beauty is ours to touch and to know To touch and know Don't you think there's more, I really have to know? Don't you think there's more to life? Don't you think there's more, I really have to know? Don't you think there's more to life? Don't you think there's more to life? Don't you think there's more to life? Don't you think there's more to life? And don't you think there's more to life? Don't you think there's more to life?