I'm smarter than a chair, until it needs red paintnThen I'm amazed in a forest of staresnCrying oil, and picking horsetail feathersnFrom my eyesnnA grin of shadows press my facenI am a forger or a fakenWho dabs and bursts each blood-filled eggnAnd whips his raw steak of a brush into an XnnI wanna quit with all my skinnBut I can't find a place to sitnWith all this red on my handsnOr even trace these slapdash tears back to nthe startnnI coat it twice, and thricenI rub it on like it's tan lotionnAnd like a child, I let it streamnWatching it ebb, full of emotionnnMy neighbour stares, I'm red as Marsn(He's smarter than a can of paint)nIt looks real nice he finally saysnAnd where's your lovely wife today?nnShe's in the house baking a cake.