Painter’s Hands Songtext
von Pieta Brown

If I could do this for you I would
I would raise this country to your lips
And give you a painter′s hands
You're here, the lines on my brow
And you, the shadows under my eyes
Always watch the world going blind

A country such a mess
And our history a strain
This strain is heavy my legs


And I have nothing to give you
Just my eagerness to please you
And an open, bitter nest
For your hands to feather paper

And I think I always see your face
And the good fear that calms me
But I can′t seem to protect you
Even though I try

This strain will never leave me
And I have nothing to give you
Just my eagerness to please you
And an open, bitter nest
For your hands to feather paper
For your hands to feather paper