Paint a picture, little artist,
And put it in a frame.
Pin it up on the wall and
At the bottom, sign your name.
Convince yourself it means something,
That your hard work wasn't in vain.
Try not to notice that 
Every artist is the same.
You try to change the world
With brushstrokes on a page;
You try to create some beauty
In this dark and violent age.
But so does everyone else-
We're just like you, my dear,
And so, just like all the rest of us,
You'll eventually disappear.
Everyone's creating things,
And everyone's taking stands;
But originality has been killed,
And the blood is on our hands.