I paint in black and white  A face appears as my creation on canvas   Structured lines expressing the very foundations of chaos  These lines are but words  Words I read upon each wall, each scene I behold  I swallow the pictures of the surroundings  and set them in the womb of my mind  The plant grows in my garden obscure  From the poisoned ground a flower then rises   Black and dead it still grows further more and more  And I adore it's beauty, grace, it's lonely pride   As I summon it's essence to manifest for me,   powers of creations are running through me  In trance it's nature comes undressed to me   I then gently dress in colours,  and give it name by words,  give it soul by tunes...  Soul by tunes!  For every flower that springs from upon the grave holds a mirror of life itself  Yes, even youth and thirsting striving for what's above  But the grave it's bound forever  My soul must bleed to create  As Osiris - I die to be resurrected  the pain is the words  The tears the real fluid on my brush  I am the crying dying one  I am the magician  For I am the artist  And as the world devours me  I am resurrected in an other one   Created from the devastation of myself   Devastation of myself!  I hear the voices haunt across the spaces   They grant me the speech of my world - our world  And though they cut me deep, very deep  I search them for more as soon as they're gone   They hurt so badly, still it's of them I consist  There is no real joy in this, purely a need for deed  My soul must bleed to create  As Osiris - I die to be resurrected  the pain is the words  The tears the real fluid on my brush  I swallow the pictures of the surroundings  and set them in the womb of my mind   The plant grows in my garden obscure  I travel by the tears, falling down  Into a perfect satisfaction in the soil of the graveyard