My old friend lives up in the mountains
He flew up there to paint the world
He says, "Even though interpretation's what I count on
This little picture to me seems blurred
Hard lines and the shadows come easy
I see it all just as clear as a bell
I just can't seem to set my easel to please me
I paint my Heaven but it looks like hell"
You blue might be gray, your less might be more
Your window to the world might be your own front door
Your shiniest day might come in the middle of the night
That's just about right
He says, "Man I ain't comin' down until my picture is pefect
And all the wonder is gone from my eyes
Down through my hands and on to the canvas
Still like my vision, but still a surprise"
"Real life," he says, "is the hardest impression
It's always movin' so I let it come through"
And that. my friend, I say, is the glory of true independence
Just to do what you do what you do what you do
My old friend came down from the mountain
Without even lookin' he found a little truth
You can go through life with the greatest intentions
But you do what you do what you just gotta do
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