The Artist

They’ve hung my paintings in paris, new york and rome
I chased my dreams but my heart remained at home

And every line i ever drew
Was dedicated to you

I’ve had my share of good fortune and sweet success
It doesn’t mean that i missed you any less

And every line i ever drew
Was dedicated to you

But oh my failing eyes
What am i worth, when my talent dies?
Oh but then, all my art
Could never fill my lonely heart

I have a house and a family, but all the same
In my sleep i – just sometimes- say your name