Monday 5 October 2020

Sisyphus is a dung beetle

I wrote this in 2016. The original version was played on the guitar. I improvised with the words 2 days ago using my thumb piano.
The paintings were made in 2016 on wood.

The old lady had the face of a sunflower
Sun, light, the moon.
A vampire on a rocking chair, smoking his pipe, counting the stars.
"Goodnight, moon," The bear whispered, reading a letter by the window in the moonlight.
He, like Jan Vermeer, loved windows, moonlight and travelling.
Someone dropped a pearl earring as she hurried out the door to meet her secret lover.
In the pitch black night, a dung beetle found the earring and started to roll it up the hill.
He almost got ran over but he tried and tried and tried and tried and tried and tried.
Sisyphus is a dung beetle! Sisyphus is a dung beetle!
A wolf in the garden poked his nose into a missing brick of the wall.
"I hate windows!" He cried. The sheep laughed and walked away.
An old rat was eavesdropping from behind the wall, he too was scared of the sun.
Ill-fated lovers grew their hair like Rapunzel.
Skyscrapers swallowed by the tongues of fire.
On the busy street one hot afternoon, a man in black looked at the world through a man hole.
The children lied on their bed that night, as their mother placed a crate full of apples on the table.
One fell out and rolled towards the edge, and dropped onto the floor.

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