Weekend been here 
Taking care of everything 
Although it isn't much 

Tell the inventor of crayons 
Many wallpapers they've improved 
And tell the funeral parlor 

I still feel ripped off 
Sick of making deals 
I'm slipping on dead leaves 

It's like he had two homes 
And in this cabin 
He kept what mattered most 

Always open 
But if anyone came too close 
They'd pass through like a ghost 

Never saw him 
Sit still only in his boat 
I was not welcomed there 

So still, real still 
As he was practicing 
To finally give in 

The cabinet's emptied, 
Abandoned it will rot 
I lock up and leave 

The wooden rowboat 
Half-sunken in the reeds 
The wiping out proceeds 

Tell that portrait painter 
His eyes weren't that color, no 
Still I recognize the glow 

Drawing 
Shows a boy whose rocket leaves 
Disappearing over trees