Michael Winikoff - The Mona Lisa - текст песни (слова)

She is there
 in smoky hues of black, tan and green
 with some white between the edges of the frame 
 and the listing catch-plate, bearing her name
 
 Visitors. Admirers.
 
 they look:
 oh yes....mmm...beautiful...exquisite... 
 a fine piece of artwork
 he really knew what he was doing.
 I must buy a print at once -
 where's the souvenir shop?
 
 they don't see:
 her hidden heart
 a wooden plank that's all - 
 not even canvas.
 Rotting all the while.
 
 While the visitors smoked
 and the lightbulbs flashed
 and the babies screamed
 and threw rattles on the carpeted floors
 
 before they slung her in a perspex cage
 and hung a crimson barrier on golden stands 
 and glued the 'No Smoking' signs to the walls 
 in four major languages.
 
 And esperanto.
 
 Such a small smile: 
 her eyes, so far away.
 
 The background
 semi-formed in the acid colours of a dream 
 fading into a memory of long dead fingers 
 twisting the bristles of a brush
 and catching a smile then bones,
 now dust.