Dreamer of White Canvas

She's a diamond in the rough
He's an oak tree, torn and tough
But once these words come automatic
It pulls it's mind from out the static

Up in the attic
In slumber sound
Or casket fabric
Six underground

It's the dreamer
Of this old white room
And in only subtleties
Does it's presence loom

It's the rough
And the soil too
The black from which
Our skies turn blue

In in it's timelessness it'd speak
And paint it's white pavilion
"A picture's worth a thousand words
But a world is worth a billion

I've dreamt a world
A field of canvas
But all I've found
A cold abyss

The words are loosely
Tied in flow
And their weavers
Tell the same old show

So I'll take this place
Of black and white
And weave a tale
A place of light

If dreamer's dust
Weren't in our genes
Then nothing's just
The way it seems"

Is that the way
That dreamer looks
To paint a world
Untold in books