She went running through the orchard screaming,
'No God, don't take him from me!,'
But by the time she got there, she feared he already had gone
She got to where he lay, water-colored roses in his hands for her
She threw them down screaming, 'Damn you man, don't leave me
with nothing left behind but these cold paintings, these cold portraits to remind me!'
'Cause they were painters and they were painting themselves
A lovely world.