Don McLean - Vincent

Don McLean es un cantautor estadounidense, nacido allá por 1945 y que tuvo su mayor éxito (al menos por Europa) en los 70 con la canción American Pie (que hace poco versionó Madonna). Pero tiene otras canciones preciosas. De hecho el hombre sigue sacando discos en la actualidad, aunque no tiene ni la sombra del éxito que tuvo.

Una de las canciones que más me gusta es esta, Vincent, una canción de homenaje a Van Gogh. La escribió a principio de los 70 tras leer una biografía del pintor. De hecho, como curiosidad, en el museo Van Gogh suena diariamente y bajo él está enterrada una cápsula del tiempo (¿Estas cosas pasan fuera de los dibujos animados?) con copias de cuadros de Van Gogh y con una partitura de esta canción.

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.
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 flo'rs that brightly blaze

swirling clouds in violet haze reflect in
Vincent's eyes of China blue.
Colors changing hue
morning fields of amber grain

weathered faces lined in pain
are soothed beneath the artist's
loving hand.
And now I understand what you tried to say to me

how you suffered for your sanity
how you tried to set them free.
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 heads on nameless walls
with eyes
that watch the world and can't forget.
Like the stranger that you've met

the ragged men in ragged clothes

the silver thorn of bloddy 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're not
list'ning still
perhaps they never will.