Curse of ages that surrounds me now Paintings depicting nightmares absurds I fear what my own hands bring out of the clay Colours out of controls melt in visions I flee The portrait changes itself by everyday I can't even look at my forsaken face With it wicked eyes it lurks around Seeking its reflection my eyes always down It forces me to murder every night And feed the colours with the taint of life Rotting more by everyday as I glorify misery Icons of oblivion Take forms into my hands Twisted writings As all around blurs and merges black I forbid myself to create any further But the creation holds me like a puppet Pantomime without shape I ritualise through pain And I'm sure That it lives It seeks me out It hunts me down It feeds on me It licks my fears It's eyes are evolving to pure evilness Pain. Art. Crime. It. is. I. The portrait changes itself by everyday I can't even look at my forsaken face With it wicked eyes it lurks around Seeking its reflection my eyes always down Scissors will cut through all this light And bring my eyes to nothingness How could obsessions follow me into monochromy? I won't even see the blood of my eyes Will reality fall with sight? Does anything exist out of colours? And the damned eyes of the mirror Will they still see and look at me?