The colors bright and dull, screamed,
The conscience out of his brain beamed.
On the side, his ears, heavy as they felt,
Irony of the universe with which he dealt.
Secret, never disclosed, were his paintings
Secret, never disclosed, was himself he,
Never disclosed, he experienced the circle, we,
In solitary, flying with his colors a bee.
Humming the melody of his own work.
Never disclosed, the ever-flowing melody
That the fact, never disclosed, he never bow.
After that he now dead, the air was low,
Now disclosed, the people and the world were like wow.