LYRIC FOR SALE

By Chris Sharp

You couldn’t make a masterpiece; you don’t know where to start
Like one of Tolkien’s fantasies or Reubens’ works of art
Your talent and your sentiments are half a world apart
Cos you’ve never ever had a broken heart

The moment that they leave you, the words take on more weight
Despair and desperation bring new colours to the plate
And if you’ve never been there, you can’t appreciate
How much beauty can your suffering create

But you’re the one who does the leaving, the one who disappears
The one who packs their bags and flies the nest
The broken hearts you leave are your treasured souvenirs
And you leave the masterpieces to the rest

A brand-new empty canvas with nothing underneath
Brand-new empty pages, with no story overleaf
Devoid of aspiration and devoid of self-belief
New masterpieces forming from the grief

But you’re the one who does the leaving, the one who disappears
The one who packs their bags and flies the nest
The broken hearts you leave are your treasured souvenirs
And you leave the masterpieces to the rest