In his world, he tries to see the ceiling

Having trouble with his focus and the light

5 hours old as life does its revealing

Everything is bran new to him tonight

I’m laying back and staring at the stucco

But somehow tonight, I seem to see right through

To the sky and the milky stars above me

In a way, as if the world was new

Sometimes I picture life like it’s a painting

As a canvas and a pallet full of tones

But tonight I think that I may be an artist

Like Michel or possibly Van Gogh

In a work of art that breathes its life from oil

Or Venus that carved her life from stone

It appears that life becomes of what we make it

From David to a Wheat Field With Crows

But an artist will say his hands aren’t his

To take credit of his work is just not right

And the channel from where he finds his light

Can be a single starry stroke from God’s simple brush of life

It’s amazing the things that man’s created

Control a mountain with a tractor for its ore

We’ve made bridges and towers toward the heavens

We’ve paved the land with roads from shore to shore

But tonight I seem to see right through the ceiling

To the starry wash of diamonds in the sky

While my newborn son’s whole life is just revealing

A painted drip of truth flows from my eyes

But this artist will say his hands aren’t his

Nor his wife’s on this starry starry night

And the channel from where we find the light

Is the single starry stroke from God’s simple brush of life