Student by day.
Picasso by night.
I’d draw pretty things
and I’d keep out of sight.
No curfew could scare me away from my plan.
I found all my courage in an aerosol can.
And in the mornings I sit in cafes
and watch the cops scramble like rats in a maze
Until men came in vans with their buckets of paint
And declared my palm trees enemies of the state.
Soon I learned that I wasn’t alone.
Next to my flowers some others had grown.
I didn’t know you but I loved you no less.
We had a shared purpose in a horrible mess.
Soon I thought that the streets would be ours.
We covered the churches, skyscrapers, and bars.
We felt a power we hadn’t before.
A ferocious revolt and resistance to
That gave the curfew.
Since the paper’s banned.
On the union members
On the author’s pen.
On the refugees.
On the rights of women.
They called it suicide. But we had no choice.
It made us feel alive. It gave us our own voice.
And in our new found frenzy
people started to get reckless.
They now felt unstoppable,
no matter how wild the protest.
And then the well known artists
vanished into the night air.
No trial or persecution.
They simply disappeared.
They called it suicide. But I had no choice.
It made me feel alive. It gave me my own voice.
All the sirens
and all the newscasts
were a howlin'
for a bloodbath.
I felt a feeling.
That bitter lurching.
The camera's smirking
When they finally bagged me
it was a success.
A true victory
in the name of progress.
The end of artists.
And all the terror.
A new dawn rising.
A golden era.