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, perhaps they never will.