Artist in a box
graphite, charcoal on paper, 50 x 50 cm

 

There was an artist in a box
Who sat around and wore black socks.
He missed the spark, he missed the muse
It made him restless and confused.
He felt a lack of glorious stories
Which left him drowning in his worries.
The truth of thuths he had to find
But every seed escaped his mind.
He saw no hope, he had no clue
It made him mad, it made him blue.
Forgot ‚bout all things big and small
He moaned and did nothing at all.
There was an artist in a box
Who sat alone and wore black socks.