The blue it speaks so full
 It's like the beauty one can barely stand
 Or too much things dropped in your hand
 And there's a green like the peace
 In your heart sometimes
 Painted underneath the sheets of ashy snow
 And there's a blue like where the urban angels go, very bright
 Now the Calder mobile tips a biomorphic sphere
 Then it swings its dangling pieces 
 round to other paintings here 

 Your behavior is so male
 It's like you can't explain yourself to me
 I think I'll ask Renoir to tea
 For his flowers are as real as they are all the time
 And the sunlight sets the furniture aglow
 It's a pleasant time as far as people go, how far do they go?
 Well his roses are perfect and his words have no wings
 I know what he can give me and I like to know these things

 I met her at the funeral
 She said I don't know what he meant to me
 I just know he affected me
 An effect not unlike his art, 
 I believe

 The service starts and we are in the know
 He had so much to say but more to show, and ain't that [bad word] of life?
 So we weep for a person who lived at great cost
 Yet we barely knew his powers till we sensed that we had lost

 friend and I in a museum room
 She says, "Look at Mark Rothko's side
 Did you know about his suicide?
 Some folks were born with a foot in the grave, but not me, of course"
 And she smiles as if to say we're in the know
 Then she names a coffee place where we can go, uptown
 Now the painting is desperate, but the crowds wash away
 In a world of kind pedestrians who've seen enough today