what even is a junebug;
I know it is me; the spirit told me
and the painter is he
the painter paints me and everyday; I look different everyday I have new lines or new stripes i'm different colors at different times
oh Lord I ask for a few more signs,
the poet is mighty
he's a warrior fit for battle; he makes since of it all; my lines, my stripes and colors
he rhymes he always rhymes,
are not the painter and the poet the same thing
for there can be no poet without the painter and no painter without the poet, the poet paints the painter and the painter paints the poet
the junebug is me; how do I know this,
because I've been set free; by the painter and poet of course
the hand of the poet has released me, for the painter has completed his job
am I found worthy in his sight
The Lord of all things
may my stripes be made new, for his fingertips remain blue,
the poet the painter and the junebug can be found true
