I painted pictures on a shadowed wall,
To show a bout or tell a tale of war,
Display a yarn in words a man recalls,
Recording what has happened long before.
A painting shown on ancient cuts of leaf,
I shed my skin upon a manuscript,
I gave a voice to those who couldn’t speak,
Now they express themselves without their lips.
With slaves of God I carved the prodigy,
My skull is moved by hands of famous men,
I told the past with brutal honesty,
Then from my body flows the ink again.
A path of love I poured upon a page,
To hopeless music, writ and sold today.