Starry, starry night,
Picture palette blue and gray,
Look out on a summers 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 colours on the snowy linen land.

And now I understand,
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 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 gray,
Weathered faces lined in pain
Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand.

And now I understand,
What you tried to say to me,
Are you suffered for your sanity,
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 beautyful as you.

Starry, starry night
Portraits hang 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.

And 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 are not listening still;
Perhaps they never will.

(D. McLean)

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