Retrospective - Tom Paxton

Now, when the paint was dry

And the colours set

It was painful yet

To an honest eye

Here, where the walls were hung

With the sweat of years

The familiar fears

Since the hands were young

Now, in a battered chair

With his tea gone cold

And his hands grown old

He will sit and stare

Here, where his life is hung

With the blood in view

There’s been nothing new

Since the hands were young

Schoolboys laugh in the streets below

Laughter cruel as the long ago

Fingers point through the bitter years

And the bitter tears

Now, when the paint was dry

And the die was cast

It was clear at last

It was all a lie

Red never left his hand

And the blue was wrong

With a green too strong

Never what he planned

Now, in a rumpled bed

With a night to kill

He’ll be painting still

If he isn’t dead

Now, he can only stare

As the old dream falls

At the mocking walls

And the walls are bare