Artist/Traveler by Globelamp Lyrics
Leaves are falling
I’m getting cold
These shoes know when they’re growing old
I don’t always do as I’m told
At least I have a free soul
If you’re an artist or a traveler with tapestries
I gave up making tea years ago or so it seems
I left a box of grapes in Hamburg, Germany
A fool I thought a friend suggested this idea to me
Lavender flowers and all of your supposed powers
Can’t hold up to a meteor shower
If you hop a train or jump on a plane
People may call you insane
The day we met I knew the world would never be the same
If you’re an artist or a traveler with tapestries
I left the only girl I love in the Evergreen trees
If you go North tell them I brought her ashes to the sea
And that I always have them right next to me
Oh i’m getting cold, oh oh and I’m growing old
Remember every scar if you’re a sculptor
Your memory is the pen if you’re a writer
Your body is a tool if you’re a dancer
Your brushstrokes show your soul
If you’re a painter
And will you be coming home?
If you’re an artist or a traveler with tapestries
Who’s fallen but gotten up from down on your knees
You’ll know the real point of art and poetry is to somehow
Connect with the mystery
Oh i’m getting cold, oh oh and I’m growing old
I’m getting cold
These shoes know when they’re growing old
I don’t always do as I’m told
At least I have a free soul
If you’re an artist or a traveler with tapestries
I gave up making tea years ago or so it seems
I left a box of grapes in Hamburg, Germany
A fool I thought a friend suggested this idea to me
Lavender flowers and all of your supposed powers
Can’t hold up to a meteor shower
If you hop a train or jump on a plane
People may call you insane
The day we met I knew the world would never be the same
If you’re an artist or a traveler with tapestries
I left the only girl I love in the Evergreen trees
If you go North tell them I brought her ashes to the sea
And that I always have them right next to me
Oh i’m getting cold, oh oh and I’m growing old
Remember every scar if you’re a sculptor
Your memory is the pen if you’re a writer
Your body is a tool if you’re a dancer
Your brushstrokes show your soul
If you’re a painter
And will you be coming home?
If you’re an artist or a traveler with tapestries
Who’s fallen but gotten up from down on your knees
You’ll know the real point of art and poetry is to somehow
Connect with the mystery
Oh i’m getting cold, oh oh and I’m growing old