I loved the art to grow,
be it sheets, walls,
or that tattoo on the backbone,

It was nice and sweet,
like some bird chirping its tweet,
but it was dangerous too,
like lion out of his cage, hungry and rude,

The art you decide to play,
gives you a tune,
you color it and let it stay,
becoming a part of you,

As the ink dries,
sketches appear,
you become a new life,
with cobblestone roads more clear,

The art on your skin,
like that tattoo on the backbone,
helps you stand out quick,
or gives you the right to be alone,

Stay...