Portraits hung in empty halls.
Frameless heads on nameless walls,
with eyes that watch the world and can't forget.
Like the stranger that you've met;
The ragged men in ragged clothes,
The silver thorn of bloddy rose,
Lie crushed and broken,
On the virgin snow
-Vincent by Don McLean
What a beauty.
Oh,
What a beauty.
These are new songs to me.
These are the new arrivals.
Of sensible beauty -
As I age, to understand.
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