(Woman speaking: "You know those art galleries On Fifth Avenue? The prices they charge! I saw one little picture that cost $50,000! They call it a-a Cezanne." Man speaking: "Cezanne? Oh, he was a great French painter. I'd like to own that painting." Woman: "You would? For $50,000?") There's a noise upstairs in the attic It's the shuffle of worn-out shoes And the scent of the oil and the brushes Drifts down like a pale perfume. And he says: I, I am a man, simple man. A man of colours And I can see, see through the years Years of a man A man of colours. And the old man rubs his failing eyes And takes a moment to watch the view From a window nobody knows he's there He can see the empty street below. And he says: I, I am a man, a simple man. A man of colours And I can see, see through the years Years of a man A man of colours. He says: I keep my life in this paintbox I keep your face in these picture frames When I speak to this faded canvas It tells me I have no need for words anyway. And he says: I, I am a man, a simple man. A man of colours And I can see, see through the years Years of a man A man of colours. He says: I, I am a man, a simple man. A man of colours And I can see, see through the tears Tears of a man A man of colours.