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
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.
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 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 strangers that you've met
the ragged men in ragged clothes,
the silver thorn of 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.
