No colours in my palette today, nothing tonight, Because only colour is for the good, And so, I know; I should
I master movements of art, Every single masterpiece, splattered apart, Some I've made, some I've stolen Until paints bled from the canvases.
I see mediums and shades, Some dark, some as bright as my blade, Some charred, some neutral A threshold of a scoundrel
Paint drips and sinks into my skin, my veins, The reminder of the canvas stains, I must forget those wretched ones, I must let it dry before it's gone.
My exhibition, I say These pieces took me several years, a couple of days I contrived large pieces of works, some small, Some wide, some tall Regardless, you seem to seem to be in awe, Do you like what you see? That's what I thought.
No, I can't shake your hand, my friend For my hands are not in the best trend, Covered in paint - yes, indeed Nothing else, not that I don't need.
This piece is not for sale, my gentlelady, Perhaps, maybe A bargain? No, this is not what you're looking for, But over there, past that door You'll find something you'll like.
I'll accompany you, I may even paint something new While we're together.
See this piece? Remember what you see, It's convoluted - oh this? I paint with a knife, Shh, don't speak, my sweet.
No colours in my palette today, nothing tonight, Because only colour is for the good, And so, I know; I should
I master movements of art, Every single masterpiece, splattered apart, Some I've made, some I've stolen Until paints bled from the canvases.
I see mediums and shades, Some dark, some as bright as my blade, Some charred, some neutral A threshold of a scoundrel
Paint drips and sinks into my skin, my veins, The reminder of the canvas stains, I must forget those wretched ones, I must let it dry before it's gone.
My exhibition, I say These pieces took me several years, a couple of days I contrived large pieces of works, some small, Some wide, some tall Regardless, you seem to seem to be in awe, Do you like what you see? That's what I thought.
No, I can't shake your hand, my friend For my hands are not in the best trend, Covered in paint - yes, indeed Nothing else, not that I don't need.
This piece is not for sale, my gentlelady, Perhaps, maybe A bargain? No, this is not what you're looking for, But over there, past that door You'll find something you'll like.
I'll accompany you, I may even paint something new While we're together.
See this piece? Remember what you see, It's convoluted - oh this? I paint with a knife, Shh, don't speak, my sweet.
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