The world told you I was dead,
They cry every twenty ninth, calling out my name---
"Vincent! Dear Vincent!"
as if their voices could lift a soul away from death.
Why didn't they shout my name before I left?
Each passing day I ask,
a question running through my mind but never left my lips
Yet no one would even hear me now nor even then...
Why couldn't I be loved, when I lived to have it felt?
Why did love look for me, when I was locked away for sure?
Loneliness was my disease and I never found my cure.
Why?
I watched the stars every night
waiting for all these glittering lights to hear my cry.
Now as I stand on the star's side
Hearing their sad mourning sighs
I now realize why...
They couldn't give what don't have,
even the shooting stars were as poor as hags.
And yet I ask the world again,
"WHO SAID I WAS DEAD?"
Who told you that I was gone and deep beneath the cold hard ground?
I am not dead.
Yes, I, Vincent--- Van Gogh it is to them
I say, I am not dead.
I live in every soul that's been forgotten
Every person in the street who Love has never met.
I live on teenagers on showers asking them selves "until when?!"
Every broken man drowning himself in liquor bottles---
I live in the lives of every soul that sought for love and never found them!
I am alive,
I am there as long as more people are asking "why?!"
I live while so many people stopped trying.
I am rooted in the hearts of those whose hearts are heavy---
heavy from the emptiness of living.
I stand beside every man ready to leap off a bridge and let the current carry their tormented fears.
I am alive,
I am full of wasted lives.
And as long as there's another---
who never found the love he should've been offered,
I say, I am alive!
Let there never be another who left
never having to be embraced by the sweetest feeling ever felt.
Never let anyone leave,
While they're bringing me.

Let there never be another cry for Vincent.

Always,
Vincent


(iac.)