I Live In A Box Of Paints

I'm A Painter First, And A Musician Second.

When I Think Of Your Kisses My Mind See-saws.

All The News Of Home You Read, More About The War And Of Bloody Changes.

There Was This Mountain Village In Russia Where My Music Was Getting In On Some German Radio Station. I Remember This Because Music Used To Get Up To Saskatchewan From Texas. Late At Night After The Local Station Closed Down.

A Few Drinks Later You're Not So Choosy When The Closing Lights Strip Off The Shadows On This Strange New Flesh You've Found.