Will I compose a splendid work of art
a painting fair and bright as angels skin
or should I soon need brief change of my heart
I'll take you on my ride for grotesque spin

I did not truly mean a painting bright
and doubt there's any chance my heart will change
for long is since last time I've seen the light
a pleasant thought would likely seem quite strange

Still i posses my paint and crooked lines
my ride still travels on it's saddened trail
though it seems every single of the signs
show burning boat that sails out of the dale

I favour not to do the painting yet
for it has always been to me a threat