[Verse 1] Before the morning found the steeple Ken was already on his way Keys upon a ring beside him Making ready for the day We learned hard work from watching quietly More than any words could say A servant's heart behind the scenes Building things that still remain [Verse 2] There was always paint upon his fingers Always turning dreams to life Turning canvas into stories Bringing visions into light Parade floats rolled through hot summer days Stage lights glowed beneath his hand He could see a thing before it lived Then help the rest of us understand [Chorus] And I believe he's still painting the sky Brushing gold across the mountainside Leaving traces of his handiwork In every sunrise shining bright The faith he carried through his life Still guides us when the road runs dry And every dawn reminds me why I think he's still painting the sky [Verse 3] He chased the desert and the canyons Where the ancient markings stand He found age-old stories in the desert's heart And brought their spirit to his art A camera hanging from his shoulder Captured moments as they flew Then we'd gather round the projector's glow And watch our memories come shining through [Verse 4] Road maps folded on the dashboard Campfire smoke beneath the pines Old folk records in the living room Spinning through the passing time Sometimes he'd pull Mom from the kitchen And twirl her as the record played While the rest of us just smiled and watched Seeing them dance the years away [Bridge] Fifty-one was far too early For the final page to turn There's a space beside us at the table And a thousand things we'd like to learn But love outlives the years we're given And some lives echo far beyond goodbye His fingerprints are all around us Like hidden colors in the light [Final Chorus] And I believe he's still painting the sky Adding crimson to the evening light Maybe humming old folk melodies As the stars awaken one by one tonight The Lord called home an artist's soul But not the love he left behind And when the heavens catch the sun I see his masterpiece alive [Outro] When the day fades softly westward And the shadows start to fly I look up and smile a little At the canvas stretched on high And somewhere past the reach of sorrow Beyond the tears we've cried I like to think he's standing there Still painting the sky
