A Kinder Eye Lyrics - Singles - Level 42

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 

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 

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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 

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