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 colour
His spotted hands both grace and speed
I was the boy who came with evening
To sweep his floors and bring his tea

To 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 colours
But every face the same

[Chorus:]
Across the page (across the ages)
The moving hand of history bleeds
For a kinder eye to see us
Not as we are, but as we dream

A 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 one

As 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 dream

[Chorus 2x]

See also:
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2
2.16
Elvis Presley All Shook Up Lyrics
Michael Crawford Everytime We Say Goodbye Lyrics