Just what his colors implied
They chose to turn their backs
And leave an artist to die
Some say he wound up in the gutter, Lord
And the faces in his paintings cried
To read the words he wrote
No one would take the time
They say he passed away poor
For a writer only needs a reader
And not silver, roses, or wine
La, La, La, La, La, La, La, La, La, La, La, La, La, La, La, La, La, La, La,
La, La, La, La, La, La, La, La, La, La, No one would try to hear
The notes of beauty he sang
They say he died in his sleep
But his last performance was a bang
to sleep his voice rang it rang
how it rang something like this
Everybody sing it out loud
Oh, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa
You're gonna sing it in the people's key
Shout it out, shout it out, shout it out loud