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| Starry, starry night |
| Paint your palette blue and gray |
| Look out on a summer's day |
| With eyes that know the darkness in my soul |
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| Shadows on the hills |
| Sketch the trees and the daffodils |
| Catch the breeze and the winter chills |
| In colors on the snowy linen land |
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| 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 |
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| Starry, starry night |
| Flaming flowers that brightly blaze |
| Swirling clouds in violet haze |
| Reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue |
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| Colors changing hue |
| Morning fields of amber grain |
| Weathered faces lined in pain |
| Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand |
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| 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've told you, Vincent |
| This world was never meant |
| For one as beautiful as you |
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| Starry, Starry night |
| Portraits hung in empty halls |
| Frameless heads on nameless walls |
| With eyes that watch the world and can't forget |
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| Like the strangers that you've met |
| The ragged men in ragged clothes |
| The silver thorn, a bloody rose |
| Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow |
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| 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 |
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