You want to make Van Goghs Raise 'em up like sheep Make 'em out of Eskimos And women if you please Make 'em nice and normal Make 'em nice and neat You see him with his shotgun there? Bloodied in the wheat? Oh what do you know about Living in Turbulent Indigo?
Brash fields, crude crows In a scary sky In a golden frame Roped off Tourists guided by Tourists talking about the madhouse Talking about the ear The madman hangs in fancy homes They wouldn't let him near! He'd piss in their fireplace! He'd drag them through Turbulent Indigo
"I'm a burning hearth," he said "People see the smoke But no one comes to warm themselves Sloughing off a coat And all my little landscapes All my yellow afternoons Stack up around this vacancy Like dirty cups and spoons No mercy Sweet Jesus! No mercy from Turbulent Indigo."