There are cracks in Piet Mondrian,
In the red bits and the blue.
The paint contracts in Piet Mondrian,
And we don't know what to do.
The vertical is failing,
The horizontal too.
The diagonal's prevailing,
As the canvas pushes through.
We know you're very Modern,
With your blocks of constant hue,
But there are cracks there, Mr. Mondrian,
And we're running out of glue.
We made our buildings like you,
And our bottles of shampoo.
Now we're trapped in little boxes,
Of the kind you often drew.
He was exact, our Mr. Mondrian,
With his lines so crisp and few.
A real crackpot - Mr. Mondrian,
So it's time for something new.