Artists

 Why do we become artists?

Why do we pick a pen?

Why do we have the talent?

Why do we have the skill?

We make beautiful things,

We become beautiful people...

We colour the world,

And give a story to an eagle

But we are not seen,

We are not there.

We walk in life

Like we don't breathe air

We got the skill,

And it is hell.

To be able pain on the world as we see it.

Or write the words so many are afraid to speak it.

We get lost in a glass,

We find ourselves there to...

What the world can't give us,

Alcohol beings it true.