If I could color myself a picture

Of the most perfect kind

I would start with a box of crayola crayons

And some turpentine

I would wax away my ugly

Color in the lines

Draw a smile upon my face

And make some friends in time

My skin would be a rainbow

Every color of every crayon

A multitude of happiness

And never would I frown

What fun to be had

What a picture to be made

Never crying streams of black

A world lacking the sourness of lemonade