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?