Category: Writers Block
ok, the rhythm has yet to be worked out for this, but its quite odd and multilayered, hope you enjoy.
Well I was crossing an empty street and I saw your smile.
Weary as a truth, left unspoken for a while.
So I had to stop by and ask, if you'd take up your brush for a fee.
Because an artists work is to reveal that which others cannot see.
As you look out at the world, I saw understanding in your eyes,
for your pictures tell a thousand words, and none of them are lies.
and as the falling sunrays shelter those who are forever unaware,
Would you paint for me in the shaddows, sur, if you have the time to spare.
corus:
I hoped that when you saw me,
canvass would call your name.
and you would seize a brush and show me,
A face never scored by shame.
With vibrant colours burning bright,
you'd show me I was wrong.
for if artists sketch the truth my friend,
show me where I belong.
v2
You see much more than I do sur, can you depict my life reflected,
so that somewhere on your blackened landscape, I may see what I've neglected.
I've never seen a picture like it, perhaps I'm just too old,
and when you look at me with your eyes a flame, your hands might be too cold.
I've warn the hat of the frustrated minor, but my plot of land has gone dry,
and my tools are all blunted from striking the rock which I can no longer defy.
I have asked every painter, and they have all failed, so tell me if you do not succeed,
and I'll leave you in peace and never return, for I am the last of the breed.
corus
bridge:
Well I see you look around and hesitate,
and I turn on one heal and walk away,
but with a word you stop me where I stand,
a little smile and a raised left hand,
I'll give you what you want lad, if you stay.
You tell me you have nothing left, but I know that that's not true.
for I've seen the small stains on your jeans lad, you're an artist too.
you've left your craft so far behind, and your bleeding spirit strayed,
and I know you've seen your answer there, in every stroke I've made.