You made banal the magical,

You transformed them into logical,

Yet they tell that you were mad

And at the end shoot yourself dead.

But it’s not your fault,

The world failed you.

They saw those sunflowers and weeds,

But couldn’t see your sufferings.

Your ripping up the canvasses,

Eating up the yellow paint to find happiness,

Shows the tragedy of a soul who felt so much.

You aren’t yet dead Vincent,

You live in the souls,

Of everyone who give up everything,

For the calls of their soul Awakening.

It’s only the world that fail to see these magicians,

And name them madmen.