People ask us why, Why we draw what we see. Why we paint the sky, Why we see art in a spill of tea.
But sometimes look through our eyes, We are a juice splatter as a new birth. The things we see reflect the sunny skies, We see art in everything on earth.
If you see a pile of junk, We see are a chance for a new life. Giving out works some spunk, We make our selves feel alive.
Although most prefer listening to strings, Or even hiking through the forest. With us it's the little things, Like just being an artist.