Pitter-patter, pitter-patter,
In my heart, it is a simple matter.
Or soul, the brain, the mind;
Whichever you believe does the chatter.
We paint it in red, purple, white,
Some even coat it in blue
The color of use, symbolic as it is,
Is symbolism of what it means to you.
For red is passion,
Anger, blood, unnerving lust,
Yet in the end, when it's good,
It forms an undying romance to trust.
Oh purple, my dear, purple,
Royalty, pleasure, even loyalty,
I like to deck it in the color,
When a kiss tingles so poignantly.
White, a color ever so pure,
My virginity, belonging to one,
Yet I'm again coated in that pale paint,
My love is a gift from the Son.
But blue, sadness, it's what I give to my love,
For my love is hated, seen as unnatural, uncommon.
And as my tears fall and my words break,
It will remain, my love, my love for a woman.