Who will ever grasp the vision,
Of the colours in an artist's blood?
Can another under the precision,
When scalping a vase out of mud?
What about a soldier's heart,
As he dies with a crushed body in war?
Or two aching soul mates who live worlds apart,
Craving each night for a little bit more?
Can the Director envision the life,
Of a poor man struggling between love and fame?
Trying to calm his unsatisfied wife,
Whilst the rich man dies lonely in vain?
Will the farmer ever see,
How living in a city can become an art?
Can one person ever be,
Truly enlightened by another's heart?
