Artists’ hands were yours from birth,
Oh, the paint and the pain;
From East Land Ends, to the ends of the earth,
Oh, the mad and the sane:
And though you made your name,
Oh, the bitter fame.
Storms on your canvas reflecting our lives,
Oh, the paint and the pain;
Sacrifice plunders where creativity strives,
Oh, the mad and the sane:
And oh, the cruel cost,
As I read to you from Paradise Lost.
To be the one to bear your heart,
Through thick paint and thin,
Not for me but for your art,
Your passion all-a-flame;
Burning paint and pain.
Upside down they nailed your art,
Oh, the paint and the pain;
Crucified your bleeding heart,
Oh, the mad and the sane:
Your draughtsman’s plans, which came to nought;
So many dreams so dearly bought.
Three children buried in their graves,
Oh, the paint and the pain;
Lost beneath life’s cruel waves,
Oh the mad and the sane:
And through those hungry years,
I tasted paint through bitter tears.
To be the one to bear your heart,
Through thick paint and thin,
Not for me but for your art,
Your passion all-a-flame;
Burning paint and pain.
Forty-five years,
I shared your visions and your schemes;
Forty-five years,
Fighting for your dreams.
Now you’re gone, there’s nothing left,
Oh, the paint and the pain;
No princely gift, nor godly rest,
Oh, the mad and the sane:
To place you now among the greats,
Then mine was a humble fate:
To have been the one to play her part,
Through thick paint and thin;
To have been the one to break her heart,
For the mad and the sane,
And the paint and the pain.
Oh, the paint and the pain;
The paint and the pain.
(Lyrics & Music: Gary Miller)