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.
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.
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 field of amber grain,
Weathered faces lined in pain,
Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand.
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze,
Swirling clouds in violet haze,
Reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue.
Colors changing hue,
morning field 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 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.
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 head on nameless walls,
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget.
Like the strangers that you've met,
The ragged men in the ragged clothes,
The silver thorn of bloody rose,
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow.
Portraits hung in empty halls,
Frameless head on nameless walls,
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget.
Like the strangers that you've met,
The ragged men in the 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,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen,
they're not listening still.
Perhaps they never will...
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen,
they're not listening still.
Perhaps they never will...
4 comments:
BRAVO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Can I copy-paste this post?
I know the song!
I love Vincent. His paintings are great!
But he was happy while painting!
It was when he was most lucid.
"Painting is a joy for me." He wrote on one of his letters to his brother Theo.
In his letters you can find how happy he was about his work and the work of painters and writers he liked.
There's not a tiny little piece of madness on his works and I don't like the way people attributes madness in his paintings.
The only line I don't like on this song is:
"that know the darkness in my soul"
Jesus! He knows nothing about the darkness of Don's soul. lol
He knows about his own darkness... and joy!
His work is full of joy but people usually refuse to see it.
He has left an average of 800 paintings. What is known is nothing. And even on these looking with good eyes we can see happiness.
Yeah he was great...I didn't know he's close to 800 paintings to his credit! That's something!!!
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