Piles and piles
Tears and years
My soul represented through colors
Paintings
Ever since I was 6
It's all right Infront of me

Going through the basket
Remembering what I felt when painting this or that
Seeing myself get better and better
From scribbles
To, well, better scribbles
With detail
And color
Both have feeling

Sometimes I forget when I painted something
But I can tell from what I did
From the shapes and colors
That bled from my brush
Or my hand
Or anything I found fit

One basket
Holds my story

One basket
Showing the real me

One basket
Showing how I've been changing

And I went through it
Wow
What a journey

In Hollywood
Gas masks work forever
And in the worst conditions imaginable
In reality I bet they're a bit ****
It just doesn't seem that tangible.

Steven Spielberg called
And offered me and my identical twin brother a job
It was on his hatchery
We'd be monitoring
The defacatory habits
Of the livestock
We were to be
Close Hen Counters Of the **** Kind.

Woke up still drunk
Saw the chaddies last night
Ain't seen them boys for awhile
But they was there
In the neon light
Of the bar sign
Of that new gaff
That is called the black cat
Christie had gone bald
I had gone fat
Their Spanish cousin Miguel
Looked disgusted that
Me and Milney
Had been out all day
The margheritas were on offer
What more can I say
He's an respected man
International architect
But we bullied and coerced him to get completely wrecked
And then it was over
Woke up fully clothed
Chugged down a black coffee
My brain felt exposed
Then perceived in the distance
A rumble I could not believe
Who'd be a bin man
On Christmas Eve?