Vincent van Gogh
His early works were bleak studies of peasants,
Observing rural poverty alone,
An artist with a solitary presence
Who captured every melancholy tone.
Then other subjects we can see his hand shape,
Becoming clear and brighter all the while;
The wooden fishing boats and harvest landscape,
The woman at the table with a smile.
A café where the customers are drinking
Beneath a stunning network of white stars,
A boiling sun of orange slowly sinking,
Sunflowers gathered in a china vase.
The home portrayed with brilliant walls of yellow,
The pipe he loved to smoke and chair for ease,
Those cypress trees so beautiful and mellow
I almost hear them rustling on the breeze.
But mental illness left him torn and tainted,
A bandage soaked in blood, an angry snarl,
He had to go away yet still he painted
The courtyard of the hospital in Arles.
Depicted as a vivid raging ocean,
The cornfield was a sign the end was nigh
And crows above it causing a commotion
Predicted what would come in hot July.
O Vincent with a gun you chose to sever
The loneliness, to heaven you were hurled
Quite unaware we'd celebrate forever
The way you saw the beauty of the world.
©
His early works were bleak studies of peasants,
Observing rural poverty alone,
An artist with a solitary presence
Who captured every melancholy tone.
Then other subjects we can see his hand shape,
Becoming clear and brighter all the while;
The wooden fishing boats and harvest landscape,
The woman at the table with a smile.
A café where the customers are drinking
Beneath a stunning network of white stars,
A boiling sun of orange slowly sinking,
Sunflowers gathered in a china vase.
The home portrayed with brilliant walls of yellow,
The pipe he loved to smoke and chair for ease,
Those cypress trees so beautiful and mellow
I almost hear them rustling on the breeze.
But mental illness left him torn and tainted,
A bandage soaked in blood, an angry snarl,
He had to go away yet still he painted
The courtyard of the hospital in Arles.
Depicted as a vivid raging ocean,
The cornfield was a sign the end was nigh
And crows above it causing a commotion
Predicted what would come in hot July.
O Vincent with a gun you chose to sever
The loneliness, to heaven you were hurled
Quite unaware we'd celebrate forever
The way you saw the beauty of the world.
©




”
I was trying to think what to write about initially and then I suppose I thought 'why not write about not being sure what to write about' 
Never mind, we're still hoping for a January/February release date. That reminds me of an old Barbara Dickson song