Lyrics The Artist - Jim White, Mark Kozelek, Ben Boye

The Artist

I watched the kid through the glass
Carefully slicing the wheat rolls apart
Slicing the marinated bell peppers, the sun-dried tomatoes
Slicing the mozzarella, specifically picking each piece meticulously
Placing each piece on the countertop neatly
Laying it all out on the bread orderly, studiously
Folding the sliced bread back together with mathematical precision
As if he were an emergency room surgeon
As if each move he made were a life or death decision
He was focused and relaxed, his hands steady, like a master painter dipping his
brush in the paint
You were in a spell watching him create
I had goosebumps watching him create
I said to you, «That kid’s an artist»
And you said, «I know», while you stood there wowed
I said, «I've never seen anyone make sandwiches that I’ve considered an artist
until just now»
After lunch, I held a cab at Columbus and Broadway, and we kissed goodbye
I got into the cab on the new Sun Hong Kong side
The driver asked, «How is your day going?»
I said, «It just started»
He said, «Your's was just ending»
I said, «Where's your accent from?»
And you said you were Brazilian
I asked, «Where from in Brazil?»
You said, «The capital, Brasilia»
And for the last 19 years you’ve lived down the coast in Pacifica
WIth your 20 year old son and your husband who is also Brazilian