Break through the chains of everything you hold dear,
find me beneath layers of paint and music,
waiting for you to see this holy place beyond what is real.
In this land creativity flows like a river, drowning the sad flakes of conscious thought,
and shaping the land to the hum of a weeping guitar.

My home is an idea, not a place.
It is everything instead of something.
This is a place of painted hills, and lyrical lakes,
of something more than me,
it is everything.

And when you come to see,
this land of no walls, no boundaries, no lies,
she'll change for you,
and I will see this world through your eyes.
Far away from city life,
and buried beneath the painter's knife,
is everything I've ever known.

It's love, and it's freedom,
it's sorrow and it's joy.
It's life, through an artist's eyes.