We All Have Our Own Shoes

This is opening night
This is the curtain call of life
Etching with melody, scenery to the void
And I bet we could paint them
And I bet we'd take our time
Slobbing sick ideas at them
Under fake lights

What ever happened to the old tree and the conquered creek?
Stand steady, cause there's etches in the harmony
Never found ...but we'd meet at the beach
Wetting a red stone
And painting your face

And diving in to be rid of this beach colored paint
We're all perfect imperfections
And we all have our own shoes
So where we step is where we choose.