Lyrics

Might as well call you Caravaggio,
You wear your pride on your sleeve
Heart beneath the smile
Lips have been known to mutter, 'Caravaggio.'

With word and gesture you reveal the lie
The trick is in the truth
You weave as we weave you
The pleasure's always ours, Caravaggio.

The colour of your pain when sunlight starts to wane,
Is this true? A hue of chartreuse?

Your cap is tilted just above the eyes
A cloud to bridge the look
A night to hide the 'why'
Your mask is nothing, but shadow forsook.

Praises you receive are cause for doubt
Your trust always contrived
Your home still displaced
Your creed, your concern, yet to be derived

Give your soul, damn your pride
Forsake country, forget ties.
Might as well call you Caravaggio

Tell me one last time, your name again
Then provide the proof,
To prove again what's true,
Might as well call you Caravaggio.

The colour of your pain when moonlight starts to wane
Is this true? A hue of chartreuse?