What is the work of an artist ?
Tell me, does it mean anything ?
When nobody is listening,
When will he get some self-esteem ?
Sometimes he struggles for his life,
And when it’s the year of the knife,
He turns away and, gone in smoke,
He remembers last words he spoke…
Then he comes back to his homeland,
He begs for her to hold his hand,
Then she plays his favourite tune,
How would he guess that death in June ?
So when it seems to end too soon,
It’s time for a new man to come
To life after all the hurting
He has endured without speaking…
Too long since he has been lonesome,
So he forgets where he’s come from,
And wonders when he will return
To his own island in the sun…
What is the work of an artist,
Lost in the loops of the river,
Because he is no scientist,
When he doesn’t get an answer ?
April, the 27th (23:37)