I stood beside my audi, being pounded by the rain,
I had just been at the garage but it had broken down again,
I had knowledge of a house not too far ahead,
So I set out on the track sliding on leaves as I went,
Wanting to turn back.
But I kept on going forwards on winding country lanes,
‘Till I reached a burnt out mansion,
With burnt out window panes,
And although the storm was growling like a tiger in the sky,
I am sure I heard a woman’s voice cry,
“ Don’t want to be trapped in your colours forever,
Don’t want to be trapped in your eyes,
A life to despise,
I’ll never be trapped in your colours forever.”
So I climbed in through a window frame and noticed a dull light,
I climbed the stairs in search for her, that lady of the night,
I couldn’t find her anywhere and searched in every room,
So I climbed the spiral stairs to the tower,
And heard from out the gloom,
“Don’t want to be trapped in your colours for ever,
Your love was second to none,
And now you are gone,
I’ll never be trapped in your colours forever.”
I flicked open my faithful lighter to illuminate the hall,
The room was almost emptied apart from every wall,
There hung a thousand portraits robed in Victorian dress,
My eye was drawn to one without a frame,
As I heard a voice digress:
“Don’t want to be trapped in your colours forever,
I said that I do,
But now it is through,
I’ll never be trapped in your colours forever.”
And so I stared into the portrait and was filled full of dread,
Despite her gracious features upon her gracious head,
Then she rose up out of nowhere; her hair was full of steam,
And wrapped her arms around the picture,
And screamed, and screamed, she screamed:
“Don’t want to be trapped in your colours forever,
You said ‘till death do us part’
But you were wedded to art,
Don’t want to be trapped in your colours forever.”
She pointed to an old newspaper lying on the ground,
So I bent and picked it up trying not to make a sound,
And I looked a little closer at page eighty-eight,
And noticed that the picture showed the ghost woman’s portrait,
I squinted to read the caption written to the side,
About a windowed painter,
As the ghostly woman cried:
“Don’t want to be trapped in your colours forever,
I gave you my life,
But your brush was the knife,
Don’t want to be trapped in your colours forever.’
The artist had requested a painting of his dear wife,
So she sat still for him to render her,
As the picture stole her life,
When he finally noticed her frail form and tiny weight,
The glint had fled from her eye and he knew it was too late,
And so I sit and scan the pages absorbing what’s been said,
When I notice a final caption,
Which with trembling lip I read:
“Don’t want to be trapped in your colours forever,
Don’t want to be trapped in your eyes,
A life to despise,
Don’t want to be trapped in yours forever.”
I sat sobbing as the ghost screamed her desperate plea,
To be freed from her rendered prison of a century,
I made the decision to release her from these haunted days,
And with faithful lighter in my hand I set the portrait ablaze,
The canvas burnt whilst oil paint crawled down to the floor,
She was but a technicolor puddle as clasped the handle of the door,
And for a second I glanced back at the figure through the smoke,
Of that sweet smiling maiden,
Who spoke,
“Don’t want to be trapped in your colours forever,
The painting may bleed,
But now I am freed,
Now I’ll never be trapped in your colours forever.”
