Its natural beauty is no longer visible since the canvas was picked from the field
Chunks were taken out of its hull and its insides stripped clean.

Rays of candle light sneak out the door in its broken shell
Only these rays are the distinguishable features in the inky darkness of night.
The true artistry of the marks slashed into it revealed

It holds a spookingly, jolly grin with hollow eyes beaming right up to you as you walk up to it.
You cannot ignore its beauty and the skill it must have taken to make such a masterpiece; how much fun they must have had carving into its orange skin
but then you remember the fun you will have smashing it into as many pieces as suits you

Then it is your masterpiece
and the street is your canvas