Breath of the canvas
Paints from the canvas crawled to the floor,
The picture is dying, it can’t live anymore…
The colorful mass is like a bodiless soul,
The painting is playing its deadly role…
The canvas becomes the grave of the painter,
The breath of the picture is fainter and fainter.
The cause of the death’s the master’s sell-out,
And no one can help when you are knocked out…
The shrouds are cursed when the killer’s the devil,
And angels are crying when fiends want to revel.
Spirit of darkness has cast his spell,
Demons invite you right into Hell.