The eyes of Mr. Judas were haunting
Filled with red, yellow and black
Everyone knew the renowned painter
For he had painted many a great characters
But everyone forgot as they chanted ‘traitor, traitor’
What were they if he was a traitor?
The eyes of Mr. Killer were hollow
Filled with white, white and white
He shot the president from behind a bush
Everyone rushed to hang him
But forgot to look into their own eyes
For what if they found the white?
The eyes of Mr. Man were without sympathy
Filled with pretense, materialism and pain
He hurried along to his work with his trunk
His overcoat jiggled with his coins
His eyes swayed to the homeless hungry fellow
But why was he to care?
The heart of Mr. Man was to change the world
His intentions were as clear as crystal
While his actions were as dense as the swamp
Of course, the hungry kid ate his intentions
So did his wretched siblings
What else could they really do?
Don’t go searching for the painter, friends
For he prowls like a stalker behind you
Search for your shadow
For there you will find your stalker
Weaving away your soul with his brush
While you continue to point your fingers