Paintings from Michael

I like the one with the sky storm, the one with the abandoned barn
I heard you painted it in prison right before they took your brushes away
Michael, I don’t know you but I dream of you sometimes
To tell you the truth, I don’t you did to deserve such hard times
I’d read to you on Sundays, right before they took your visits away
I’d kept all the letters you’d send: the ones about being home again
Michael, I don’t know you but I dream of you sometimes
To tell you the truth, I don’t you did to deserve such hard times
When you paint the pretty women, do you see them in your cell?
When they take you out for field work, do you hear the city bells?