The Painter

I am a stranger in the dark,
a blank just passing through the park,
white noise inside my head,
white noise…a walking dead.
Something inside me still holds a toy..
the record playing songs of joy,
yet, all i hear..a tolling bell.
my heart is frozen in a cell.
I wonder why can’t someone ever tell..

A painter caught my eyes, she won’t let go..
She tells apart my white noise from the snow.
I feel the cold, I feel exposed,
spotlight on me, no longer just a ghost.
I feel posesed, she calls me by my name.
She’s young. Her brush and just a game.
My eyes still hers.. I wonder what she thinks..
Her brush tickles my chest, my face, my lips,
I feel the sun, I see the birds, I hear the songs,
I ask: “what is that beat? what are those chords?”.
She says: “can’t find the mirror, but you could look into my eyes”
I see myself, but it’s not me.
I see a stranger in the light,
I have a heart, i feel so free,
colourful and high, just like a kite,
I fly above the green park, playing.
This land is mine now, for the taking!
But me..still hers. She’s calling..
She says: “that will be 1.99, sir..for the painting!”

I am a stranger in the dark,
a bleeding heart just passing through the park..
Red wounds inside my head,
red steps…a walking dead,
all i hear..are tolling bells.
I wish that noone ever tells!


3 responses to “The Painter

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