Rachel

My name is Rachel, I was born here on the coldest day of May
And I work here in this brothel, I do not feel ashamed
You can tell me the men are faithless, you can tell me the men are sin
But I’ve cured the devils, I’ve held the innocent
There was a painter, he used to come here, at least when he could afford
Which wasn’t often, but when he did, it was me he would implore
They told me he was crazy, but I did not seem to hear
Until one night when he gave me a bloody piece of his ear
Oh Vincent, who has hurt you so, oh Vincent, how was I to know
In the long run, history will make it clear
But all my screams will fill your dreams, some of passion some of fear
There was another painter, name of Gauguin, more famous I suppose
They were friends, maybe lovers, oh with painters you never know
They were screaming, and they were fighting, Gauguin drew his blade
And he slashed at poor Vincent and they never spoke again
Oh Vincent, who has hurt you so
Oh Vincent, how were we to know
In the long run, history will make it clear
But all my screams will fill your dreams, some of passion some of fear
All your sadness, it will vanish, whenever you choose to leave
When you bury yourself in your painting, beneath the crows, amongst the wheat
And I will lie here and I will wonder about the gift you gave
Was it your sickness, was it your madness or just a way to share your pain
Oh Vincent, who has hurt you so
Oh Vincent, how were you to know
In the long run, history will make it clear
But all my screams will fill your dreams, some of passion some of fear
All my screams will fill your dreams, some of passion some of fear