Vinnie's in the bedroom, painting endless skulls
Covering the canvas until every inch is full
Then he starts another one, or, failing that, the wall
There're skulls in the dining room, spilling from the hall
Some are black or yellow, none are quite the same
But each one has an attitude and each one has a name
Vladimir, the yellow one, looks angry on the door
Marley, in the corner, is saying Paint some more
Dread
Dread
I can hear them speaking says Vinnie full of fright
They whisper things inside my ear and keep me up all night
Every time I finish one it says aloud its name
I swear hear them laughing as I put them in the frame
They're everywhere I look sometimes I wish I'd been born blind
But if I burned my eyes out now, I'd see them in my mind
And I won't stop painting them as long as I'm alive
Until the day I finish one and the name it says is mine.
Dread
Everything was catalogued after the artist's death
The opening at the gallery was a critical success
But as to which was his last piece, they critics can't agree
Between one that looks terrified and one that looks relieved
Dread