the starving artists

Can you hear them, late at night
through the darkened window there?
Coming through the dismal morning,
brightening up the pall night air.
There’s a woman and her piano
and man and his guitar
now singing low and oh so sweet,
singing out his dulcet heart.

Don’t you wish you’d put it down
and live out your life like that?
Because it’s where the skin is thinnest
that he dares not strike and combat.
For the truth, the love flows right there:
the truth, the love: God’s great boon!
running darkly, richly, redly;
like mars before the moon.

Now simply, don’t you wish you could leave,
in search of something far more fair?
Because sometimes, if you listen,
You just might hear it there.
Now please stay with me and see
in the dark here, and late at night,
you can watch them through that window --
for tired eyes, a beautiful sight:

There’s a woman and her piano
and man and his guitar
without a penny in a pocket
but with a wish upon a star.
I want to have this life like them;
the artists, in their blissful woe
who watch the sunrise over the rooftops
singing oh so sweet and low

So don’t you wish you could put it down
and live out your life like that?
because it’s where the skin is thinnest
that I dare not measure flat.
Sing out your dulcet heart
Darling, sing out oh so low and sweet
the city alone wakes up to find
your voice fading on the street:
Coming through the darkness there
clearing out the pall night air.

Can you hear them?