You know how sometimes we love some songs and then later totally forget about them at all?And then, some other time, later in life, we suddenly hear them play and they come back to us, and then we remember how much we loved and cherished them, at one point of time of our lives?
One such old, forgotten favourite that recently crossed my path, is Don Mc'lean's "Vincent (Starry, Starry Night)". It brings back memories of rebellious days spent in architecture undergrad, when we lived and breathed creativity and when I first fell in love with Vincent's work and of more recent times, the beautiful afternoon spent among his works in the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam.
One of my all time favourites; you can hear it here for free: (Song no. 10)
"Vincent (Starry, Starry Night)"
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 daffodils
Catch the breeze and the winter chills
In colours 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 and 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 artists' 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 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
Framless heads on nameless walls
With eyes that watch the world and cant 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
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...
