A cleaning woman polishing an empty picture frame in a painter's loft slowly rediscovers something she gave up long ago. A gentle story about what gets set aside and what gets reclaimed.

Lyrics

I’ve been cleaning this house for so many years
And the old woman who lives here pays me well
I show up every week to do toilets and dusting
But she keeps it pretty neat and she keeps to herself
Two buses uptown every Tuesday
I let myself in, the door’s never locked
I work through each room, all the antiques and art
My favorite place is her beautiful loft
There’s an empty frame on the wall
And the wood’s stained a deep indigo
As I polish the grain, it’s hard to explain
I see faces and places I know
Won a scholarship to an art school
But we got married when we were too young
We took care of the kids, working nights to get by
Seems like the work is still never done
Haven’t picked up a paint brush in ages
There’s just not enough time in the day
But when I enter the loft with its pallets and oils
All of those years, they just melt away
There’s an empty frame on the wall
And the wood’s stained a deep indigo
As I polish the grain, it’s hard to explain
I see faces and places I know
One day the old woman was watching me
As I polished that empty frame
She took the cloth right from my fingers
And put a paint brush right there in its place
Then she showed me a drawer full of canvasses
Said, “I’ll never get to them all.
And if you want to paint, you’ll have plenty of space
Whenever you’re feeling the call.”
There’s an empty frame on the wall
And the wood’s stained a deep indigo
It’s hard to explain but I can’t wait to paint
The faces and places I know
It’s hard to explain but I can’t wait to paint
The faces and places I know