Yesterday A Child Came Out

I'm Irresponsible To My Career In Order To Paint. Because Painting Is Obsessive. I Forget To Eat. I Forget To Sleep.

A Few Drinks Later You're Not So Choosy When The Closing Lights Strip Off The Shadows On This Strange New Flesh You've Found.

Elusive Dreams And Vague Desires Fanned To Fiery Needs By Deadly Deeds Of Falling Empires.

Tears And Fears And Feeling Proud To Say I Love You, Right Out Loud Dreams And Schemes And Circus Crowds I've Looked At Life That Way. But Now Old Friends Are Acting Strange They Shake Their Heads, They Say I've Changed Something's Lost, But Something's Gained In Living Every Day I've Looked At Life From Both Sides Now From Win And Lose, And Still Somehow It's Life's Illusions I Recall I Really Don't Know Life At All

That's One Thing That's Always, Like, Been A Difference Between, Like, The Performing Arts, And Being A Painter, You Know. A Painter Does A Painting, And He Paints It, And That's It, You Know. He Has The Joy Of Creating It, It Hangs On A Wall, And Somebody Buys It, And Maybe Somebody Buys It Again, Or Maybe Nobody Buys It And It Sits Up In A Loft Somewhere Until He Dies. But He Never, You Know, Nobody Ever, Nobody Ever Said To Van Gogh, 'paint A Starry Night Again, Man!' You Know? He Painted It And That Was It.