Empty canvas hear your surreal screams
After paint smears my nude sculpture
I only have a shard left to live fully
Let me break free with you on that silhouette

Drunk angels come by his every masterpiece
Imagine art never would waste there
Blue and black symbol of smoke for they draw
Creating deep passion thorugh our harmony

If we angered rhythm then the balance
She can turn us to perfoming metaphors
Why see her picture than appear more
Make him which he was wild or raw

Sex is but an expirement like I think
Investigate the absurd piece about feeling
Color has no use, music is old junk
Made in time from here so write and mean it