Vincent

Essa é pra levar pro túmulo...



"Starry starry night...

Paint your pallet 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
colours 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 lover's 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
a 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 now listen
they're not listening still

Perhaps they never will"

Vincent
Don McLean