Óleo de una mujer con sombrero
SILVIO RODRÍGUEZ
Lana lunera
CANCIÓN INFANTIL
Estación
SUI GÉNERIS
6 de octubre de 2011
Suscribirse a:
Enviar comentarios (Atom)
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
"Menos es más" Mies Van der Rohe
"Menos es más" Mies Van der Rohe
Páginas
El arte es una mentira que nos permite reconocer la verdad.
ir a
Todo
-
▼
2011
(29)
-
▼
octubre
(12)
- Los aromas pueden verse.. Cierra los ojos!
- MEDUSAS
- TORTUGA TORTUGA
- Otros pájaros Tiene los pies ligeros como el vient...
- Bajo el mar
- Lluvia cromáticaÓLEO SOBRE LIENZO20x20 cm
- Príncipe azulEDUARDO MATEO b o s q u e e n c a n...
- ILUSTRACIONES LIBRES
- Ilustración libre Mejor no hablar de ciertas cosas...
- Óleo de una mujer con sombreroSILVIO RODRÍGUEZ La...
- Santi Magda
- And when I touch you I feel happy inside. It's suc...
- ► septiembre (1)
-
▼
octubre
(12)
Seguidores
Starry, starry night
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.
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.
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…
Don McLean
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.
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.
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…
Don McLean
Starry, starry night
No hay comentarios:
Publicar un comentario
Me interesa saber qué pensás..