In act one

In act one

Brush, brush, brush
A rush of colours on the paper sky,
Soft, violent; all in, upon them
Brushing words inside out;
O what a shame!
Brushing organs in broad daylight,
Tune of emotions foaming out,
Everyone oversees overlooks,
Threads of buttons going back
In act one
As cottons;
Candy flosses flying in front of the eyes,
It is all so loose, clear like an open chest,
Brushes now deep, indeed inside,
White paper grins and plaints!
Its colours lost without remorse,
Threads continue to rewind as cottons,
With order, disorder; on the paper sky,
Brush, brush, brush