Yes he's tired and jaded, his colours have faded, yet he still paints on the same His visions still true that he shares with you through the troubles of life and pain. Diverting his mind from the realities of life he enters his abstract world He creates his dream in an manner unseen until his work is unfurled. The story untold he grows quite old and can barely see the colours A dab just here, and a broad stroke just there he hopes it's good as the others. One morning he wakes and thinks about his mistakes he sold as art untrue Reaching for his brush he feels a strange rush, he passed but never forgot you. He was laid to rest, the moment he loved best as he looked down upon those he knew People talking, laughing and walking and enjoying the work that he drew. Now he has gone his star shines bright in the sky of many good souls His art laid bare that once he was there, with great ideas and goals.