Starry, starry Night...

Mañana se cumplirán 118 años de la muerte de mi pintor favorito...Vincent Van Gogh...quien se animó a pintar paisajes de noche...cosa que no sucedía con los demás impresionistas...

La siguiente canción, fue hecha para el...está bellisisisisisisisisisima...me gusta mucho...la letra y la melodía...El segundo video... es un corto...que muestra el momento en que su enfermedad lo vuelve a golpear...y es cuando se da el tiro...muy bueno, me gusta....espero que a ustedes también...
:D



Pichenle a ésta dirección, porque no tiene código el video..hum! quejome!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1fNlBn8KRng

El 27 de Julio sale al campo al atardecer, vuelve bastante tarde y se retira a su habitación. El matrimonio Ravoux se da cuenta de que sufre de dolores y avisan al médico local, Dr. Mazery y al Dr. Gachet. Vincent confiesa que se ha disparado en el pecho. Los médicos le vendan pero no le extraen la bala. Al día siguiente, Vincent pasa todo el día fumando su pipa. El 29 de Julio muere en presencia de Theo, que retiene sus últimas palabras "Quisiera poder morir así"...

"Van Gogh, la obra completa" Ingo F. Walther/ Rainer Metzger. Ed. Taschen

Por qué se murió? :(......................

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.

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 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.

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 head on nameless walls,With eyes that watch the world and can't forget. Like the strangers that you've met,The ragged men in the 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, How you suffered for your sanity, How you tried to set them free.They would not listen, they're not listening still. Perhaps they never will...