estelle by Dan Bern

i was painting a still-life this morning, of a throat lozenge
   sitting on a copy of tropic of cancer; the only thing
   weird about it is that a year ago i never thought i'd
   paint anything

i decided i wasn't ever gonna paint again; it didn't bother
   me too much; warhol's dead, david hockney's still alive,
   i don't need to paint

i'd painted over 10,000 paintings, sad ones funny ones,
   dark ones and light ones, i'd done haystacks and rich 
   old ladies by their pools wearing nothing but a scarf

i'd painted everything there was to paint, now it was time
   to sit back, give interviews, get on the internet, hang
   out at club med, take stock of what i'd done

you know the best friend i ever has was a dog, that sounds like
   a cliche unless it's happened to you, some days that dog
   was the only reason i even got out of bed

that dog went everywhere with me, then i heard that crack
   addicts were stealing dogs and selling 'em for animal
   research, sounded like an urban myth to me, like the 
   mouse in the coke bottle, but i started leaving her at home
   after that

paula was my wife for awhile, she ran off to paris with the 
   great grandson of van gogh, a cartoonist who did fashion
   graphics for le monde

when paula left she took my dog, i never saw her again except
   in court during the custody battle; she won and got to keep
   the dog and i didn't speak to anyone for months

chorus:
sometimes it seems like there's so much that you need
sometimes the world is upside down
sometimes it seems like the only thing you need
is holding someone's hand as you walk through town

i started hanging around with dino, he used to run a poker 
   game back east, now he has a little coffee shop and serves
   cappuccino to his old pals tommy chicago and jimmy the wig
   and ugly rose

the best person i ever knew was a mormon woman named estelle;
   she still calls me up drunk every few months and asks me 
   stuff i don't wanna talk about, you can't talk to her very 
   long unless you're drunk yourself, then we go all night

she says why baby why baby why baby why have you turned your
   back on love; you had so many chances, why have you let
   them all go by

one morning i was sitting out in front of dino's place with
   jake the shears a guy from philadelphia who gives free
   mohawks out front; there were a couple of young painters
   i was hoping would come by so i could give 'em some advice
   
yeah i was sitting there updating my list of enemies when this 
   girl walks in and the universe kind of stopped; turns out 
   she drank the same tea as me, don't take more than that to 
   start a conversation sometimes
   
she believed collage was the greatest of all the arts, and
   was busy pasting pictures of horses next to ads for laundry
   soap next to muhammad ali, she had a turquoise in her ear
   and said rachmaininoff was always in her head
   
later that day i was trying to describe her to jimmy the wig;
   i couldn't find any words and i realized i had started to 
   sketch her chin
   
somehow it didn't look right; i scratched it out and tried it
   again; i filled an entire pad, i threw it away, i never 
   even came close
   
for 6 days i sat at dido's place; the rain wouldn't quit and 
   no one came in, finally on the 7th day it cleared, and in 
   she walked
   
i asked her to sit with me, and i bought her a cup of tea and
   asked her to model for me sometime; that afternoon i was 
   at a canvas, she was wearing a yellow dress, i swore if she'd
   let me i'd get it right
   
   
i'd painted over 10,000 paintings; sad ones, funny ones,
   dark ones and light ones; but sitting there it was like i 
   couldn't even write my own name
   
i apologized and said it's been a few months; if you have
   patience i'll get the hang of it again, for the next few
   weeks i painted her hundreds of times
   
if i get the nose right the chin's too long, if i get 'em both 
   right the face is too thin, but i keep after it and one day
   i'll get it all right
   
i was painting a still life this morning, of a throat 
   lozenge sitting on a copy of tropic of cancer; the only
   thing funny is that a year ago i never thought i'd paint again
   
i think i might go and visit estelle; those utah mountains are
   good for the soul, i'll bring my brushes and some jack daniels
   and we can make up for lost time
   
she goes why baby why baby why baby why have you turned your 
   back on love; you had so many chances, why have you let
   'em all go by
   
chorus   

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