(Jeff Black)

My old friend lives up in the mountain

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"

Your 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 perfect

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 whay you do whay you do what you do

Your 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

My old friend came down from the mountain

Without even lookin' he found a little truth

You can go through life with greatest intentions

But you do what you do what you just gotta do

Your 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

Your 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

© 1994