Sprayed all over walls
Scribbled, like rich and creamy
Whips of salad dressing
His looks empty, but his smile wide
With obnoxious intent
A kid on a sunday outfit
Sat erect, dormant like black coffee
His sister with eyes fixated to oblivion
And counting vultures along the way
The rest became splattered raggedy dolls
More empty faces, and sunday outfits
Thus the joke started
With each line, a laceration
Each hum, a slash
There's no rhyme in his desecration
As he continued painting like Picasso
On steroids, costumed colorfully
His canvass, everywhere
His paintbrush, a kitchen knife
With Mozart playing rigid and funny
But nobody's laughing anymore
