He doesn't price his paintings 
Before the canvas dries 
His life is living colors like the ones in the sky 
On the fourth of July 
You can keep the closet door cracked 
Look outside, and dodge accusing eyes 
And be yourself for the first time 
Bristles and whiskers and a broad jawline are the prize 
Enjoy it now, because at sunrise 
Your friends and family think 
You're a pervert contaminating their lives 
He hides his dirty movies, he kisses his wife 
She has a suspicion of his filthy desire 
They don't make love they [bad word] 
And he assumes it's enough 
They both pretend [bad word] with [bad word] image 
Of another man filling them with love 
He lives his life shaving 
The whiskers that prickle his wife 
She's sitting in a pew praying to a father 
He better purge that closet before the canvas dries