Tall Tales

The days are colored, the days are colored
 Painted by numbers with dirty little fingers
 The trial and error, the trial and error
 Put me away from this fleeting exterior
 Will I leave her in the distance?
 Out there hiding, where are you hiding?
 As a monkey, dancing faster, eating traces of disaster
 Will I wash my hands of me?
 Point to yourself
 The days are colored, the days are colored
 Painted by numbers with dirty little fingers
 The trial and error, the trial and error
 Put me away from this fleeting exterior
 It's been greasepaint in canisters
 It's what I'm not that breaks me faster
 Running away from the paper
 The tallest tales are the letters
 Will I wash my hands of me?
 Point to yourself
 If I bend my hands back enough
 What can I pull out of my blood?
 All the stories that my spirit run away from
 Have they erased me?
 Will I wash my hands of me?