Starry night
Sei nato solo.
Solo con la tua malattia.
Solo con la tua povertà.
Solo con i tuoi sogni e le tue speranze.
Solo con i tuoi amori disperati.
Una mano per Kee, il cuore per Sien e un'orecchio per quella Rachel di Arles.
Solo in quell'estate, in quel campo così giallo da non poterlo sopportare.
Solo con quella rivoltella. Un fiore cremisi è sbocciato sulla tua camicia.
Troppo tardi per tornare indietro. Una notte stellata ti sta attendendo.
Sifilide, gonorrea, epilessia, alcolismo, depressione e schizofrenia.
Queste le diagnosi, ma i girasoli resteranno per sempre tuoi.
"Ora credo di sapere quel che hai cercato di dirmi
E come hai lottato per il tuo senno
E come hai tentato di dar loro la libertà.
Ma loro non volevano ascoltare, non ascoltano ancora,
Forse non lo faranno mai..."Questa canzone è per te, Vincent.
Don McLean, Vincent, 1971.
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.
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.
Colors changing hue, morning field 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,
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.
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 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...
