I leave my belongings to my daughter Eliza
I leave my writings to William, my partner,
I leave the dog to my governess
(God bless her,
For God is a Goddess,
Such Goddess that I lost).
My art I'll keep it to myself,
I don't want strange fingers running on my canvas,
Nor I want them painting with my brushes!
Those I take to my grave,
So I hope they fit in my coffin.
And speaking of goddess...
What is dinner?
Even a dead-to-be needs a last meal.
Where is the beer?
And the dear?
I'm hungry! I'm hungry of life!
For eyes that actually see
The madness of the World.
It was not I who invented the mundane reek of flesh and blood,
Nor did I invented Death though I painted it,
But I am perfectly sure that I will have fun in death's row.
