Heaven's Last Outpost

We are similar
He and I
We come here a lot
He draws people
I see him pick the day's subject
And he works
Eyes alight, face earnest
Hands moving across the paper
His creation the entire world
In this moment
Sneaking a glance when he can
Like me
Taking a snapshot of a soul
And trying to capture the light
Behind their eyes
Do you know
The place we go
While we work
Is the only thing left
Of what I used to think
Might be a place called Heaven
Songwriters, musicians
Their work brings me there too
I will gladly keep coming back