Oi! Oi! what you fucking doing?nThat’s my car mate,nSeriously stop doing that man.nOi! Come on that’s my car bro.nRight, give me that fucking can, give me that fucking brush you cunt,nGive me that fucking can.nOi! Come back here.nnOnce upon a time there was a guy called MicknWho was walking down the street one day and just switched.nSo many pretty colours made him sick,nSo he bought a can of paint and a brush to paint blicknAll the whips that he passed that were parked on the street,nAnd all the front doors on the yards full of peeps, all the cars and the jeepsnThat were black, he leavesnThe paint in his cannFor the reds and the greensnAnd the ones in between, like purple and brown.nYou could paint on them straight, not circle around.nHe weren’t happy till he saw them blacked out,nHad a look on his eyes like he was cracked out,nLooking macked out with a trench coat and his back slouched,nPaint black out, and leave everything as black now,nNot leaving even one stone unturned.nHe remember shit turns black when it burns, so he burnsnAll the leaves and the trees in the parknThat are marked with “I was here and so was Mark” inside a heart,nEngraved by kids bunking school in the park, young love,nThey thought they’d be together for eternity,nBut the flame went out like these burning treesnThat are now the colour Mick wants to see:nCharcoal Black with a capital B.nnI see a red door and I want it painted black,nNo colours anymore I want them to turn black.nI see the girls walk by dressed in their Summer clothes,nI have to turn my head until my darkness goes.nnMick sees the girls walk by in the Summer clothes,nFor a split second his darkness goes,nBut it ain’t long till he’s back in his darkest mouldnAnd the darkness grows,nHe turns his head back,nSo he can paint black the red rose,nHe snatched from the bush that is blackn‘Cause he painted that with a brush in his hand.nAnd the paint in his can that is now on the van,nEight cars and two jeeps that are parked on the street,nAnd all the front doors in the yard full of peeps.nA dead green seagull by his feet that is turning bluenMakes him weep,nTears start streaming down his cheeknAs they fall from his chin onto the beaknOf the bird that is laying in the gutter of the street,nBy the kerb.nSomething’s going on, something deep and absurd inside of Mick’s head:nWhy does he care so much?nGive a shit that it’s dead? I guess we’ll never knownWhat’s up with this tortured soul,nPainting shit blacknAs he turns a dead seagull that from front to back.nnNo more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue.nI could not foresee this thing happening to you.nMaybe then I’ll fade away and not have to face the facts.nIt’s not easy facing up when your whole world is black.nnEverything is black now,nEven the dogs and the cats now:nDogs bark, cats miaow.nBut Mick just won’t back down,nHe wants to paint the citynAnd everything inside it,nAll the girls that are looking prettynAnd all the men that tried itnwith them. If he had his way he’d paint the whole of bricksnAnd he’s sick in the head, ain’t nothing gonna calm him down,nMotherfucker’s gone barmy now.nThe only thing that could stop him is the army now,nTake away his paint can and disarm him now.nHold on, wait, said he was calming downnLooking at something sticking out the groundnIn the cemetery,nUnderneath a tree that he just didn’t see beforenOrnMaybe he saw itnBefore but just ignored it.nAnyhow, now he’s walking towards it,nMinus the can and a brush ‘cause as soon as he saw itnHe dropped that shit in a rush man, all of it.n‘Cause he was so in awe of itnSo in awe of this hefty new gravenEngraved with the name Ruby Tuesday,nA natural beauty, no Oil of Ulay needed to make it shine like a new day,nBut not todayn‘Cause she’s dead,nLaying in a hole in the floor insteadnBeing alive and looking live and red.nFrom what guys have saidnBeing live in bednAnd alive at head.nHoly shit! What the fuck?nMick’s eyes are full of tears,nHead looks like it's gonna bust. He sees a bus and starts to rush towards itnPast the line of hearses in the streetnOn the way to put somebody six feet deepnIn the dirt.nHe wishes it was him, can’t deal with the hurtnEven when he jacks up ‘cause the drugs don’t worknThey just make it worsenAnd time is something that he can’t reverse.nSo he looks at the Sun then runs towards itnStraight into the road,nWhere on the 58 bus, the driver’s floored it, ‘cause he don’t knownMick’s about to come out of nowherenSo when he hits Mick it’s all over so their left lying on the floornAs a tortured soul bre'snBody all tortured up but no soul there.nnI see a line of cars and they’re all painted blacknWith flowers and my love both never to come back.nIf I look hard enough into the setting sun,nMy love will laugh with me before the morning comes.