And the Lady Sits and Waits V 1 (lyrics by Michael Dempton)

[In the style of Don McLean singing Vincent] [intro] [finger picket acoustic guitar] [sung but almost spoken] The lamplight bends across the room Like amber poured in shallow wine Dust hangs softly in the silence And evening folds itself in time His hands are stained with oils and ash The colors of forgotten days Every portrait leaves behind A little ghost within the frame "And fair lady sits and waits" He paints her eyes a hundred times But never catches what they mean For beauty moves like river water Too alive to hold between The bristles of devotion’s hand Or gilded museums of the heart Every masterpiece he finishes Seems already torn apart In dabs of colors an artist paints As he dreams and as he sings "Fair lady sits and waits" Outside the window summer wanes The gardens lean beneath the rain And every season on the canvas Returns to dust and back again He whispers low, “Stay still for me,” As though a prayer Could alter time But shadows gather in the corners Where the dark consumes the light "And fair lady sits and waits" Each painting speaks of heart of man To capture beauty if he can And to hold eternally The here and now he sees A gracefulness A gentle Breeze A longing On a Summer’s eve "And Fair lady Sits and waits" Years will pass like turning pages Paint will crack and colors fade But somewhere in the hush of twilight Her face will still remain Watching from the quiet canvas Half remembered, half a dream While the lonely old artist sings To the ghosts of what has been "And fair lady sits and waits" "And fair lady sits and waits" "Sits and waits" [outro] [fade out]