From the recording Holding the Threads

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Lyrics

I Won’t Be Famous

Once I dreamed I’d be a painter
I’d use pigments and a palette
To illustrate disquiet and decay
Put carnelian and crimson on a canvas so enthralling
That the world would want to put it on display
But there has to be a person
Who knows how to clean the brushes
And someone needs to mix the linseed oil and turpentine
So I learned to just to apply the gesso once I had concluded
That that kind of glory never would be mine

But when I paint a landscape just for you
In your eyes the artistry comes through

I won’t be famous
And the world may never love me
But you do, you do

Or perhaps I’d be a poet
I’d confront the world with wonder
Using meter, rhyme, and metaphor as swords
I’d scatter words with wild abandon; scholars would take notice
And I’d be in line for all the big awards
But my couplets aren’t heroic
And my voice is not distinctive
And how many people even turn to poetry these days?
Still I always have a notebook and I scribble in the margins
Even though I know there won’t be any praise

But when I write a sonnet just for you
In your eyes the artistry comes through

I won’t be famous
And the world may never love me
But you do, you do

Maybe when all is said and done
It’s enough to have been everything to someone

I won’t be famous
And the world may never love me
I know I won’t be famous
And the world may never love me
But you do, you do
You do



© Beth DeSombre 2024