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Am G Now, when the paint was dry, Am And the colors set, G It was painful yet C E7 To an honest eye. Am G Here, where the walls were hung C With the sweat of years, E7 The familiar fears Am E7 Since the hands were young.
Now, in a battered chair,
With his tea gone cold
And his hands grown old,
He will sit and stare.
Here, where his life is hung
With the blood in view,
There's been nothing new
Since the hands were young.
C G Schoolboys laugh in the streets below, C Laughter cruel at the long ago. Am E7 Fingers point through the bitter years Am E7 And the bitter tears.
Now, when the paint was dry
And the dye was cast,
It was clear at last:
It was all a lie.
Red never left his hand,
And the blue was wrong,
With the green too strong,
Never what he planned.
Now, in a rumpled bed
With a night to kill,
He'll be painting still,
If he isn't dead.
Now, he can only stare
As the old dream falls
At the mocking walls,
And the walls are bare.
(Words and music by Tom Paxton, 1972)
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