If you insist on being hung up like a tapestry
Don't fret about as the passersby just pass you by
And don't pick up the instruments used for paint
Dreams scenes you can't possibly create
A watercolor dusted hang over a motel bed and-
And you're the kind that hands with a certain disdain for
The passerby that passes you by without a second glance and
I don't believe you have an eye for color or depth
A mishmash of manic and desperate episodes
A temper tantrum trying to pass for creative expression
There's no love here
Just a museum
Housing brittle depictions of what used to be
In a building behind glass
All the mistakes from the past
You could go nowhere
You could go nowhere
In a building on a wall
An old sad picture of you is scrawled
So you could go nowhere, go nowhere
In a building, a monument
Of things you said but you never meant
You go nowhere
You go nowhere
There's no love here
Just a museum
Housing brittle depictions of what used to be
(There's no love here
Just a museum)