[00:15.96]No one knows the joy when you creat.
[00:24.62]By definition, something out of nothing.
[00:33.07]Colours, canvas, light.
[00:39.67]But Christ is the light bulb.
[00:42.78]The sunlight Vincent down in Arles.
[00:51.27]You painted nudes, I painted flowers.
[00:55.98]We drank that cloudy absinthe all night long.
[01:06.80]And the women we loved were loose.
[01:13.46]When we lived in the yellow house.
[01:32.17]In the yellow house life was ideal.
[01:39.95]By definition, something one imagines.
[01:48.41]Painters, brothers, friends.
[01:53.88]At least till the end came.
[01:58.36]Complete surprise, attack of range,
[02:04.46]A most peculiar place to shave.
[02:11.51]In time our championship went wrong.
[02:21.99]But the pictures are living proof of our life in the yellow house.
[03:16.73]Ruined studio of the south.
[03:29.06]Three short months in the yellow house.
[03:43.71]I never knew that the malady was madness.
[03:50.29]Neither did I my friend,
[03:53.12]it sneaks on you from behind.
[03:56.58]I believed your condition had improved.
[04:02.04]I was convinced that hard work and our friendship would cure me.
[04:10.59]I was blind to your suffering forgive me.
[04:15.91]You always helped me when you could.
[04:19.07]You did your best, at least you tried.
[04:22.16]But not enough to distract you from the end...
[04:34.37]A wheat field with crows and those cypresses in starry night.
[04:43.78]You painted sunflowers is how I remember you.
[04:52.46]Only my pistol can comfort this sadness tonight.