The painter does not worry
About the sculptor being buried

The painter simply sees
That to carve a throne may be his trade
But The crown is not carved with his name

This throne and it’s duties were simply not yours to carry.

I can paint all the clouds in the sky, and I may be able to hold them too

But atlas is there for a reason

As I am here too.

So as I paint all the starry nights in the sky

And you move mountains

The sculptor must see

The rock cries too.