Vincent

Starry, starry night

paint your palette blue and grey

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.

And 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 smoothed beneath the artist's loving hand.

And 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 in sight on that

starry starry night.

You took your life as lovers often do,

But I could have 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 stranger that you've met

the ragged men in ragged clothes

the silver thorn of bloddy rose

lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow.

And 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.