There is no rustle, no squeak Everything got stiffened behind the window As on a silent painting Taking a life away into the paint Everything is keeping breathless silence Existing without sense And digging into the canvas with oil Everything got stiffened behind the window Questioning despondently Where is the artist that has been deprived Their life of title to sense
The paint crumbles with a gore Disclosing the true inner of the painting Through the threads, bandages, dried clots It's not the canvas but the glass that got exposed
The blind destiny in a mirror's space Opened beyond the distance and time a reflection without light behind Immaterial abyss is empty But suddenly a movement of a brush Is drawing an image where I've been before How scary it is to acquire a sight know oneself for the first time From the other side of a plate glass
My light is faceless...oh no There is a scream behind the layers of paint An almost extinct pain A moan broke through the layer of oil