"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

Artists.
Praised by lovers
Adored by dreamers
But also victims of the ridicule of over-achievers

I've dipped my toe in both waters
I've seen the world learn how to swim
While artists took a dive in the ocean
I've heard the world practice its symphonies for ages
While artists created their own

For the artist doesn't aim for perfection
It aims for satisfaction

Do not be fooled by the artist who fills galleries with red roses
For those thorns have endlessly scorched the walls of his soul
Do not be fooled by the artist who's arms stretch to the sky
For those muscles have been the victim of life's cruel judgement
Do not be fooled by an artist's kind words
For they have learned how to make lies sound like love

Do not be fooled by an artist's fears
For they've discovered the ocean
In hopes of loosing the sea

let hands speak what mouths
   cannot prattle

                 let eyes dream what sleep
               renames with its tranquility

let love undo what
hate has wreaked and

                 let fingers saunter infinite
                 strides when feet sojourn

let this quiet bellow
a hundredfold of sound

                  and let soul dance when
                  we have departed,

enisled here underneath the
brow of a terminal day,
  
                  its numeral tasks unfold
                  in the night full of silences

and let the world feel the cold
of brookwater when we cannot swim—

I thought I was clean
but I found sky colors on my skin
The cold wind knocked my broken window,
wanted to drown me in another sorrow
Fake faces mourned for a week
and I fell to the bleakness of my own weak
I swallowed those happy pills
but everything just led me to the empty hills
Heaven was never the home for all the demons made from my bones