Alizarin Crimson   (words and music by Bill Pere)

My father made a painting
It hangs inside my mirror
I see it every morning, and there inside the frame

I am just a child of two
Captured in a subtle hue
Colored by the vision of a complicated man I never knew

And now the Alizarin Crimson and the Cobalt Blue
Have dried upon the wooden palette long unused...

The images he rendered
Were the glimpses he surrendered
Through the frosted window pane that kept his soul secure

Until sienna eyes, once so sure
Wavered toward abstract allure
Devoid of any cynosure in a world that had no name, that had no cure

And now the Alizarin Crimson and the Cobalt Blue
Have dried upon the wooden palette long unused...
 

Dusty canvas, bare and white
First casualty of that final fight
That made his smile a glimmer of a flickering, failing light

So now I paint with sonic stroke
To keep alive the words he spoke
Before the sounds are silenced, drifting off, dissolving in the night

And now the Alizarin Crimson and the Cobalt Blue
Have dried upon the wooden palette long unused...

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Copyright Bill Pere. All rights reserved.