Vincent
Don Mclean

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.