In his widowed years of longing, in his windowed room of light
He lay the oil upon the canvas, brought sweet memory to life
His speckled beard a brush of color
His spotted hands both grace and speed
I was the boy who came with evening to sweep his floors and bring his teaTo the world he was the master, his landscapes filled the gallery halls
But now he painted only portraits, unframed upon his private walls
Subjects sitting-walking-laughing in playful flight or soft refrain
A thousand forms and colors but every face the sameAcross the page the moving hand of history bleeds
(Across the ages)
For a kinder eye to see us, not as we are but as we dreamA winter's night when I arrived there, he looked so tired and near the end
And as I cleaned his bench and brushes, I wished out loud to be like him
He said that art was only longing, trying to do what can't be done
And though he'd signed a thousand paintings, still he'd never finished oneAs I finished up my sweeping, in his sleep he spoke her name
I looked again at all the portraits, each and every face the same
Not as she was in pain or sorrow but in timeless beauty seen
As she served his noble dreamAcross the page the moving hand of history bleeds
(Across the ages)
For a kinder eye to see us, not as we are but as we dream
Songwriters
King Mark; Green George MichaelPublished by
WB MUSIC CORP.;KATSBACK MUSIC (*EMI*) Song Discussions is protected by U.S. Patent 9401941. Other patents pending.