Pencil

On the table there's a big case. Where the pencils live inside. But they won't let me into their space. No matter how I've tried. All of them keep laughing at me. Tell me I should go away. 'Cause they are colored pencils, you see. And I am simply gray. I am just a pencil, yes. Nothing more and nothing less. Rather plain, I must confess. But I've got a point, I can write. Draw my dreams with pure delight. I'm just plain gray, and that's all right. I can't draw a thing that is green. No green grass or no green beans. I can't draw a thing that is blue. It isn't what I do. I don't draw with color at all. No pink, yellow, brown, or red. But the things I've learned how to draw. Are dreams inside my head. I am just a pencil, yes. Nothing more and nothing less. Rather plain, I must confess. But I've got a point, I can write. Draw my dreams with pure delight. I'm just plain gray, and that's all right. I can draw designs to make cars. Bridges, submarines, and planes. Telescopes, electric guitars. Hospitals and trains. People build the things I design. And I design new things each day. Any dream that comes to my mind. I draw it in gray. I am just a pencil, yes. Nothing more and nothing less. Rather plain, I must confess. But I've got a point, I can write. Draw my dreams with pure delight. I'm just plain gray, just plain gray, And that's all right. I'm just plain gray, and that's all right.