(Jeff Black)
|
|
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 but it looks like hell"
|
|
Chorus:
|
You blue might be gray, your less might be more
|
Your window to the world might be your own front door
|
Your shiniest day might come in the middle of the night
|
That's just about right
|
|
He says, "Man I ain't comin' down until my picture is pefect
|
And all the wonder is gone from my eyes
|
Down through my hands and on to the canvas
|
Still like my vision, but still a surprise"
|
"Real life," he says, "is the hardest impression
|
It's always movin' so I 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
|
|
Repeat Chorus
|
|
My old friend came down from the mountain
|
Without even lookin' he found a little truth
|
You can go through life with the greatest intentions
|
But you do what you do what you just gotta do
|
|
Repeat Chrous
|
|
-----------------
|
That's Just About Right
|
| Blackhawk |
