Paint a picture of the world
In gentle pastel shades
Indistinct, and somehow blurred,
Like childhood escapades.
The painting box is rather deep,
But the paints themselves are cheap.
If you're back at the side of the road,
I'll show you where to sleep.
Dead brown weeds in a ditch
at the sight of a field of burning corn
The road opens out before you
like the womb where you were born
There's no need to pretend again,
to try and earn your keep
Leave your pack at the side of the road,
I'll show you where to sleep
And crowds will gather in the sun
Where stone madonnas weep
But the shepherd is a good man,
As he tends his flock of sheep.
In case you find your tortoiseshell
Is getting rather tight
You can wrap yourself
in your magic cloak
and disappear from sight
And I will stand guard over you
as through the door you creep
Leave your pack at the side of the road,
I'll show you where to sleep you