| Peeling the layers | |
| to expose the facts | |
| was like spraying | |
| and ancient painting | |
| with ammonia | |
| Faces melted, | |
| colours turned pale, | |
| shapes lost their vivacity | |
| and essences faded | |
| to distracted blurs | |
| Now the canvas is all white | |
| and my hands are unsoiled | |
| Still all reasons seems replaced | |
| By the false notion of a lucid portrait | |
| Yet again, the savage remains | |
| This empty work of art still gains a crowd | |
| The blind eagerly discuss | |
| the liveliness of its colours | |
| and the deaf insist | |
| it's accompanied by quiet chants | |
| The painter, | |
| a highly praised | |
| but anonymous deity, | |
| lurks in the periphery of the exhibition | |
| amused by the fuzz he is causing, | |
| despite his many flaws | |
| The canvas is all white | |
| and my hands are unsoiled | |
| Still all reasons seems replaced | |
| By the false notion of a lucid portrait |
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