Some ladies you can almost worship - they belong to the world.

Art Creating Art (3:21)


She thinks I’m sleeping.

But out of the corner of my eye
I see her reflection.

She stands naked, brush in hand,

Before a canvas,

Painting something I can't see.


She's art creating art,

She stands like a ballerina,

Her body should be carved in marble,

And placed next to David in Florence,

She’s art creating art.


How did I get here?

Her solo dance, her spirit free,

Upon a high porch.

My curious eyes, her finger pointed

To come in,

Her light green dress fell to the floor.


The beauty of her soul flows through her paintings,

A master’s touch against soft cello music,

I’m feeling very mortal lying near her,

Will she see me again?