Level 42 - A Kinder Eye Lyrics
In his widowed years of longing, in his windowed room of lightHe lay the oil upon the canvas, brought sweet memory to lifeHis speckled beard a brush of colour, his spotted hands both grace and speedI 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 hallsBut now he painted only portraits, unframed upon his private wallsSubjects sitting-walking-laughing in playful flight or soft refrainA thousand forms and colours, but every face the sameAcross 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 dreamA winters night when I arrived there, he looked so tired and near the endAnd as I cleaned his bench and brushes, I wished out loud to be like himHe said that art was only longing, trying to do what cant be doneAnd though hed signed a thousand paintings, still hed never finished oneAs I finished up my sweeping, in his sleep he spoke her nameI looked again at all the portraits, each and every face the sameNot as she was in pain or sorrow, but in timeless beauty seenAs she served his noble dreamAcross 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
