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Vincent
-Don McLean-
Starry, starry night:
Paint your palette blue
and gray.
Look out on a summer's day
With eyes that know the darkness in
my soul.
Shadows on the hills.
Sketch the trees and the daffodils;
Catch the breeze and the winter chills
In colors on the snowy linen
land.
Now I understand
What you tried to say to me,
And how you
suffered for your sanity
And how you tried to set them free.
They would
not listen; they did not know how.
Perhaps they'll listen now.
Starry, starry night:
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze;
Swirling clouds in violet haze
Reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue.
Colors changing hue:
Morning fields of amber grain,
Weathered faces
lined in pain
Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand.
Now I
understand
What you tried to say to me,
And how you suffered for your
sanity
And how you tried to set them free.
They would not listen; they
did not know how.
Perhaps they'll listen now.
For they could not
love you
But still, your love was true.
And when no hope was left inside
On that starry, starry night
You took your life as lovers often do.
But I could've told you, Vincent:
This world was never meant
For one
as beautiful as you.
Starry, starry night:
Portraits hung in empty
halls:
Frameless heads on nameless walls
With eyes that watch the world
and can't forget;
Like the strangers that you've met:
The ragged men in
ragged clothes.
The silver thorn, a bloody rose
Lie crushed and broken
on the virgin snow.
Now I think I know
What you tried to say to me,
And how you suffered for your sanity
And how you tried to set them free.
They would not listen; they're not listening still.
Perhaps they never
will.
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