作曲 : Gretchen Peters Picasso's in the kitchen stirring up a stew He pours himself a bowl and then he fixes me one too And we sit out on the terrace and the birds fly through the trees And he captures them on canvas and I capture them in dreams And we pass a lazy afternoon, as happy as can be With the brushes and the turpentine, just Picasso and me
He picked me up in Paris; I was scrounging in the streets He shared his cream for coffee, and I curled up at his feet And ever since that moment I've been his confidante He says that it's uncanny how I know just what he wants But we both like our freedom, and quiet company In the end we're not so different, Picasso and me
Sometimes he gets angry when they say he's just a fraud And he curses at the canvas, and he shakes his fist at God Who are these rogues - who are these fools? Who made this game - who made these rules?
The critics criticize him and the women come and go They'll never understand him; they don't know what I know They're just too damned demanding, they just won't let him be And I'm glad to see them go, and then it's back to him and me And the lazy summer afternoons, the sunlight through the trees And the brushes and the turpentine and Picasso and me
作曲 : Gretchen Peters Picasso's in the kitchen stirring up a stew He pours himself a bowl and then he fixes me one too And we sit out on the terrace and the birds fly through the trees And he captures them on canvas and I capture them in dreams And we pass a lazy afternoon, as happy as can be With the brushes and the turpentine, just Picasso and me
He picked me up in Paris; I was scrounging in the streets He shared his cream for coffee, and I curled up at his feet And ever since that moment I've been his confidante He says that it's uncanny how I know just what he wants But we both like our freedom, and quiet company In the end we're not so different, Picasso and me
Sometimes he gets angry when they say he's just a fraud And he curses at the canvas, and he shakes his fist at God Who are these rogues - who are these fools? Who made this game - who made these rules?
The critics criticize him and the women come and go They'll never understand him; they don't know what I know They're just too damned demanding, they just won't let him be And I'm glad to see them go, and then it's back to him and me And the lazy summer afternoons, the sunlight through the trees And the brushes and the turpentine and Picasso and me
