I'll fly and spill my blood over the canvas,
and I'll paint once more over this blackness;
to me the saints shall fructify what I now lack,
all this will happen, when I get my powers back.

I shall laugh and cry and feel once more,
it will come when at last I find my core:
I feel it soon my talent will return,
move out get out once it's my turn.
Inspiration will strike me like a fire,
and once more against this world I will conspire.

I shall live a writer,
Or I shall die a fighter.