Used to Be

I used to be an artist, but now I have a job
Used to dance with canvas, now my brushes sob
All them vibrant colors, used to coat my hands
But now just dirt and sweat, from working for the man

No more bowls of fruit, no more flowers in vase
No more happy clouds, no more landscape
Figure drawings out the door, nudes covered in clothes
Blind contours are blind, dead models can’t pose

Dried up blobs of paints, chalk has turned to dust
Prisma colors cracked in half, rulers full of rust
Black ink crusted up, charcoal far too burned
Got nothing to make anything, my life surely has turned

I used to be an artist, but now I have a job
Used to live to create, but now I just sob
Hours for corporations, no creation no more
Pockets half full of money, my heart is still poor

I’ve got pockets half full of money
Got me a bit of cash
Pockets half full of money

But, damn, my heart’s still poor