I've got the urge. That restless-fingered, half-lidded, soft and heavy kind of urge. I want to create something.
I've been itching here. Building up ideas. Building up desires. Biding my time.
It's now or never, world. Use me up, please. Take what I've got to give you. Once this is gone, there will be nothing left for a long time.
I'm hindered. I feel your bindings, they hold me back. I'd like to see you on the move. I'd like to see you put me in a cage, set me loose. Give me gold and diamonds, show me your poverty.
Mostly I want a wide open space. Somewhere I can spread my arms out wide. Something I can get up close too. Somewhere I can feel my wrists work. Somewhere my body will be free.
I want the colours. The red of a light. The ocher of a night sky. Green tar sands and the smooth, sapphire curves of your skin.
What are you doing, leaving me alone? I'm wasting away, and you're just letting me go.
