Lyrics:
I wrote this song for Louise Nevelson, the sculptor,
Also Billie Holiday, and a group of kick-ass women artists.
Sappho was a poet
Billie was
a hummingbird lost in the morning
And caresses the south wind and silently sails to the sea
Ah, the sculptor stands stricken and the artist he throws away his
you shall be
Lord of all in my life
Maker of the heavens, artist the sea
Creator of the sunshine and the sculptor of me
But still they laugh
From the poets who weave words like silk,
To the sculptors who mold clay like milk,
Each artist brings their own unique voice,
In the grand tapestry,
a hummingbird lost in the morning
And caresses the south wind and silently sails to the sea
Ah, the sculptor stands stricken and the artist he throws away his
house where we both could live
If I was a sculptor, but then again, no
Or a man who makes potions in a travelin' show
Oh, I know it's not much,
day,
the sculptor was invited to the Royal Court,
and was awarded the prize.
the King honoured Tenali,
for his choice of a true artist.
Dear children.
Do
visions take flight.
From the stage's spotlight to the studio's grace,
In the artist's ballad, where talents embrace.
Lines and curves in a rhythmic chase,
(Verse 1)
In the artist's hands, a world unfolds,
Colors and shapes, stories told.
On a canvas wide, dreams take flight,
In the dance of creation,
house where we both could live
If I was a sculptor, but then again, no
Or a man who makes potions in a travelin' show
Oh, I know it's not much,
(Pre-Chorus)
Feel the clay, feel the mold,
As we shape what time has told,
In the sculptor’s gentle sway,
In the masterpiece of our day.
(Chorus)
Oh, sculpted
They started as children and grew to be friends
He with his sculptor's hands she with her needle
They went through some bitter times alone
A child in my own mind
He painted you
You prove this flesh is real
A sculptors dream
A child in my own mind
He painted you
You prove that the flesh
a letter I have
Its filled up with hurt and love oh it still stings
Defenseless by your jab
I hate to admit you still have all of me
We were artists
Casaludub Production and Ali Roots
We keep it humble and high
Show love to the artists in the world oh yes,
Inspiring generations with their truths
where we both could live
If I was a sculptor but then again no
Or a man who makes potions in a traveling show
I know it's not much but it's the best
And why I am a sculptor today
My father is the artist of my world
So When I find myself in fire and steel
Colors of yellow and blue
I feel the lightning
Once upon a time
Sometime ago back on the east coast
In New York City, to be exact
A bunch of artists and painters and
Sculptors and musicians
house where we both could live
If I was a sculptor, but then again no
Or a man who makes potions in a travelling show
I know it's not much, but it's
in the morning
And caresses the south wind and silently sails to the sea
Ah, the sculptor stands stricken and the artist he throws away his brushes
house where we both could live
If I was a sculptor, but then again no
Or a man who makes potions in a travelling show
I know it's not much, but it's
They started as children and grew to be friends
He with his sculptor's hands she with her needle
They went through some bitter times alone
house where, we both could live
If I was a sculptor, but then again no
Or a man who makes potions in a traveling show
I know it's not much but it's
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