I could vividly recall my mood the day that art was murdered The wind blew a thin layer of dust on my garden bird Everything you knew was sideways and phallic The highways traffic added to Friday's madness The warm wrinkled skin loosely hung of earnest cheekbones Below eyes designed to bury the wolf under a sheep's clothes Some peoples sang, a few begged for change A young girl skipped a long with her hand glued to a candy cane I, however, walked with my back to it as usual