Из альбома: Birmingham Road
My old friend lives up in the mountains
He flew up there to paint the world
He says even though interpretation's what I count on
This little picture to me seems blurred
Hard lines and the shadows come easy
I see it all just as clear as a bell
I just can't seem to set my easel to please me
I paint my heaven and it looks like hell
Is it me or is my vision jaded?
If I ask you, will you tell me true?
I say, no and yes, I think the world you've painted
It's just the way that it appears to you
Oh, your blue might be gray,
Your less might be more
Your window to the world
Might be the big front door
Your shiniest day
Might come in the middle of the night
That's just about right
He says, man I ain't coming down
Until my picture is perfect
And all the wonder has gone from my eyes
Down through my hands and on to the canvas
Still like my vision but still a surprise
Still life he says is the hardest impression
It's always moving so I just let it come through
And that my friend I say is the glory of true independence
Just to do what you do (what you do what you do
I don't think people's visions get jaded
I think the times change and so does the truth
So in that I think the world you've painted
Is just the way that it appears to you
We ended our talk on how many friendships had faded
And nowadays what makes a picture seem real
Are the simpler versions and not complicated
Thanks for the brushes man I'll see you next year
So let's roll on we know what we're here for
Souvenirs of all that we've seen
So write a story paint yourself and paint the town
When you look around you know where you've been
If you wonder if your vision is jaded
You just ask someone who will tell you true
One true friend who sees all that you've painted
Say hey man, that looks just like you