The sky is grey, the dusk draws near,
Paint me my world, beloved dear.
The moon shall rise, a pale cold eye,
Paint me my world before I die.
The world swears faith on black and white,
But fill your palette with boisterous hues,
And as I sweep the sighing strings,
Deck my world with greens and blues.
My heart is black, my spirit cold.
Paint for my soul an aura of gold
To shine as the light of midday noon
And banish the chill and sullen gloom.
Show me a vision of open fields
And of the beauty life conceals;
Or paint me a palace with spires gleaming,
And bid me lie there ever dreaming.
Paint your image in my sky,
These bitter storm-clouds to replace
So that I may but raise my eyes,
To gaze upon your regal face.
Melody and rhyme are mine to give you in return,
But 'tis a shame such sadness lingers in the tune I play
For joyful inspiration rarely lives in what I see.
The world I'm given has no end of shades of brown and grey.
But paint me my world and you'll find that soon,
My bow may breathe a merrier tune,
To banish the sorrows we've known so long.
Paint me my world and I'll fill yours with song.
George Chadderdon © 1993