The Painter

There's a painter who stares at miles of white
 All around
 Each color he's dreamed is lost in thought and can't be found
 Can't be found
 Takes a walk through his head to ask his friends
 If they'd come out
 Come out from your shells, come chat with me and walk around
 Walk around
 This is all ours to fuck with
 This is all ours to taunt
 This is our home, our stomping ground
 What's stopping us?
 What's stopping us?
 What's stopping us?
 Wake up from your sleep, they're only dreams
 Not solid ground
 You'd keep your eyes closed if you had known
 What I have found
 What I have found
 Can you blame me for not wanting both feet
 On the ground
 While you follow routine and waste your days
 I'm in the clouds
 Raining down
 This is all ours to fuck with
 This is all ours to taunt
 This is our home, our stomping ground
 What's stopping us?
 What's stopping us?
 What's stopping us?