I draw what I have,
there's no stopping me.
I got my two hands and a pencil
and all of the lines go in harmony
to the maestro's fingers
drawn in loose leaf paper.
If I'm the only one dancing
around the sketch marks and eraser shavings
why am I doing this alone here?
The walls are flimsyThere are no doors leading here.
I hear the steps over the wall,
giving me curiosity, hope.
Many tried to find the door
before scurrying off to their days
but no one notices that
the walls are flimsysome came elsewhere
out of the darkness of the stage
getting attention from my dance
by giving me all their affection,
deceiving my two eyes
for their treasures...
