The cane on the table is getting lighter, it's almost disappeared

I always thought that furniture was weird

Rooms full of battered wood, I'd live in empty rooms if I could

The shape of my face is well-defined, improving with age

All I need now is something to engage

Grinning at images, I'll only talk to you if you appeal





Braving the elements

Childlike and delicate

Art is on the run, Art is on the run





The blood on the ticket is the same as the blood on the fingers at my throat

I'll prove it was you by the paintings on your coat

Seams split in violent times, art is on the run and drunk again on wine

I'm safe and sound, I'm full of money, a silver sixpence shines

Somewhere else a beach is sad and cries

Sand swept to damaged hills, another empty canvas I've to fill





Close to you and far away