Story, story nightPaint your palette blue and greyLook out on a summer's dayWith eyes that know the darkness in my soulShadows on the hillsScat's the trees and the daffodilsCast the breeze and the winter chills And colors on the snowy linen landNow Iunderstand What you try to say to meAnd how you suffered for your sanity And how you try to set them freeThey would not listen,they did not know howPerhaps they'll listen nowStory, storynight Flaming flowers that brightly blazeSwirling clouds and violet haze Reflect on Vincent's eyes of china blueColors changing hueMorning fills of amber grainWeathered faces lined in painAre soothed beneath the artist's loving handNow I understandWhat you tryto say to meSuffered for your sanity and I try to set them freeThey would not listen.I did not know howPerhaps they'll listennow for that could not love youPosterior love is trueAnd when no hope was left inside on that story storyOn that starry starry nightYou took your life as lovers often doBut I could have told you, VincentThis world was never meant for one as beautifulas youStarry starry nightinempty halls,friendless heads onnameless walls,with eyes that watch theworld and can't forget,like the strangers that you've met,the ragged men in ragged clothes,the silver thorn of bloody rose,like crushed and broken onthe versions known now I think I knowwhat you try to say to me and how you sufferedfor your sanity and how you try to set them free they would not listenAnd they're not listening stillPerhaps they never will