As the paint brush sweeped across the paper, it was full of color. Not the color you know like reds and blues...but my color. My colors like lyrics and sounds, not like your color at all. your color has life, mine has meaning. Your color is fake, mine is real. Your color is for fun, but so is mine. My color is worth it, but yours is not. My color you cant see it, my color you can feel it, no not physicaly, but mentaly. My color you can hear it. You can hear the words of life. The words of meaning. So many people miss these words. so many people miss these simple color, unlike yours, mine is music.