His life is a canvas, for all the world to see
His brush paints a landscape of false securities
The strokes are swift and appear safely driven
As dark colors emerge from the brush he's been given
A barrier of sorts encircles the grounds
The entryway, curiously, cannot be found
Inside this place, that he's painted himself in
Shadows drift in and out and the lighting is dim
The canvas is wet now as his focus shifts
As the brush paints a scene with meaning and bliss
Blue hues and brightness over the shadowy meadow
Chasing darkness away, brisk strokes of orange and yellow
Suddenly fearing the portal's reveal
Another brush stroke of darkness makes it's appeal
A streak of silver permeates the sky
Blue turns to black in the blink of an eye
He turns from his canvas, battling his will
Dark thoughts prevailing, moving in for the kill
From somewhere deep, deep inside of himself
He found the strength to fight off hell
He spun around with grace and might
Picked up his brush and began to fight
A mighty sword his brush proved to be
He held it firmly with honor and dignity
A rush of light from the tip emerged
With swift intent and artistic scourge
Wiped out the dark and bitter rage
Painted his way out of this place
Crumbling now, the barrier fell
The shadows dissipated, summoned back to hell
Now the sun shines in this place
His canvas is filled with peace and grace
His brush revealed his battles inside
And no more will he need to hide
