Turbulent Indigo Songtext
von Joni Mitchell

You wanna make Van Gogh′s, 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 wants 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