"Oh I know that you are an artist" she said
|
"For you make your songs out of clay
|
You carry the dust on your hands and your face
|
You never quite brushed it away
|
You were trying to chisel a perfect truth
|
When the instrument broke in your hand
|
Now you sit all alone on the greenhouse roof
|
With your shoes full of sand"
|
And the golden rays of the sun divide
|
In the slanting mists of the rain
|
And Maggie is on the road again
|
|
"Oh I know that you were a sailor" she said
|
"Till you came too close to the shore
|
And like any shipwrecked sailor now
|
You live by an open door
|
And when evening sails in the masts of the trees
|
Your feet seem to slip on the ground
|
And you long for the little ship
|
In which you can safely drown"
|
And the silver mounds of the waves divide
|
At the feet of the wind and the rain
|
And Maggie is far at sea again
|
|
"0h I know that you were an outlaw" she said
|
"And you robbed both the rich and the poor
|
Now you seek my bed like a sanctuary
|
But you keep one eye on the door
|
And you press my hand in the dead of the night
|
And say I can heal all your wounds
|
In the morning your eyes just look hunted again
|
You'll be leaving soon"
|
And the silver rays of the moon divide
|
In the slanting mists of the rain
|
And Maggie is on the prowl again
|
|
"So I know that you are an artist" she said
|
"And you make your songs out of clay
|
For you carry the dust on your hands and your face
|
You never quite brushed it away
|
And you work with your back to an open door
|
While the light is beginning to fade
|
And the windows are liquid the sky is alive
|
And the night is jade"
|
|
And the silver rays of the moon divide
|
In the slanting mists of the rain
|
And Maggie is on the road again
|
|
And the silver rays of the moon divide
|
At the feet of the wind and the rain
|
And Maggie, I'm at your door again
|
|
-----------------
|
Songs Out Of Clay
|
| Al Stewart |
