His brushes are not for sale,
Though his business brings him sail,
Prepare to wander in the sea like the lost,
Where paints can unravel the mystery of time.
The astounding circle of the tornado,
Sea waves crashing all along,
Hence the hands of the sailor are so strong to paint,
The love lingers in the art and his soul.
My greatest works are lost,
I start with what has been unclaimed,
The real unbounded systems,
Where in a place you can find much more than art.
In the sea of virtue where hope lasts,
The brushes channelized my writing of love and hope,
The paints flow from the deck and vanish below the untamed sea,
Hence my greatest works are drowned and I ease for new.
