In the Painting
I see a face in the painting that's not actually there
So I rush into the square where the real ones
Pretend not to be scared of their coming days
And for their friends losing life and their hair
Are we all insane?
Is this a revelation?
Am I insane?
Am I a demonstration?
In the painting, in the painting, It's there
The eyes are all on me now, can they see my face?
Or am I not actually here?
Writer/s: Lab Partner
