Maybe cliche. I find myself grabbing it all with every ounce of man left in me, another chance to live the full expression of thoughts, burning desires for stories untold, sending the feeling of life and living with reality walking side by side. Though I lay dead in my grave, you'd find a pen and notes by my side. I guess someone has to tell the story of what happens underground. I take a peep through the pigeon hole and find me standing there in the cold. I'll have to let me in, maybe because I'm a nice guy. But what does it matter? Genesis has come and gone! Meanwhile, I'll be here till world war three.

I made this painting while I was troubled. I still am, just by a different monster!