The Painter of Women

Seventeen lanterns are burning tonight
Isn’t he a sight?
Sitting alone on his plush Persian rug
In the blackest night
With his fancies in-flight
All his colors are bright
And the canvas is white of
The painter of women
Yes, the canvas is white of
The painter of women
Stooped at his easel
His brushes in hand
He is in demand
Everyone’s heard how
The sight in his fingers
Will guide his hand
He is known through the land
As the blind gentle man
Yes, he’s the blind gentle man who’s
The painter of women
Ya, he’s the blind gentle man who’s
The painter of women
Painting the faces
Where no faces are
They are bizarre and
Lovely to see
Selling to emperors
Kings and queens
Each of his dreams
Each of his dreams
He is always around
With his love to be found
And all the people surround him
The painter of women
I see the people surround him
The painter of women
All the people surround him
The painter of women