Lyrics

My father tells me that he only ever painted illusions in his mind.
He tells me the images which people saw were never really what he made
Were something from inside of them projected out and on the canvas

He tells me that the landscape in his bedroom really is a woman
In the mountain lay her reclined body
In the pine trees feathered black against the ice - her hair
And somewhere, just above the riverbank that forms her feet, a child wades through the reeds

Tundra blue, black and white,
The lighted eyed dark Irish of my mother and my sister
In the lake, the sun, the early dawn, the new snow, the new start

Later - before bed - I pull up all my memories
I wonder what I apply onto my father's image
I ask if the abstract is more honest than the real
and does my sight show me a mountain or a man?

New dawn, new day, new start