A blank canvas is the widest place Where the whole art is standing still The sky - to give shape to a masterpiece Is full - I need the artist's mystic will Of flaming darkness To make choices, my sacred toil To create life, colours, greatness To reveal riches, our decaying spoil My artwork were to be the universe My artwork were to be this twisted universe To draw life, the most supreme All wrong, a blind paint stream No life, in a black canvas There is no chance to pray and cleanse The work of art now lives in dark Dying planets and black blood Created by a failing God Here life is to float In a gout of black Guessing it is the universe Mankind - to make the brush a fecund place - Was born - to let flow the masterpiece - Of black - the whole art keeps standing still To perish in darkness To make choices, my sacred toil To create life, colours, greatness To reveal riches, our decaying spoil To draw life, the most supreme I need the perfect stroke But the brush streamed spurts of black And the spell broke There will be no life in a black canvas