Peeling the layers to expose the facts was like spraying and ancient painting with ammonia
Faces melted, colours turned pale, shapes lost their vivacity and essences faded to distracted blurs
Now the canvas is all white and my hands are unsoiled Still all reasons seems replaced By the false notion of a lucid portrait
Yet again, the savage remains
This empty work of art still gains a crowd The blind eagerly discuss the liveliness of its colours and the deaf insist it's accompanied by quiet chants
The painter, a highly praised but anonymous deity, lurks in the periphery of the exhibition amused by the fuzz he is causing, despite his many flaws
The canvas is all white and my hands are unsoiled Still all reasons seems replaced By the false notion of a lucid portrait