Stabbing Art To Death

Shall we use needles or knives to realign your spine?The tissue degenerates so rapidlyPerhaps it proves it is the time to cover your faceAnd smile at me to see if ı am out of sight,Denying ventricle flow revel in your plight tonight,You're such a wonderful person to knowAnd my name will rest in utter disdainMy resentment receives its wings for flightYou deceitfully stroll on just the same into your holy lightWith music destroyed, we'll only create noiseSweet dissonance is all that you'll have leftWe'll dance across its graveThe art of singing empty praise with knives of hope and peace stab art to deathI've watched it on its drugsAnd ı've seen the doctors shrug cerebellums withered up,The heart is blackNo scalpel, pill or stitch, no religious sales pitchWill ever bring the art that's dying backAnd so we are the heirs, of this glowing lack of care our hearts in one discordWe all cry out for blood and spit we clap, the amps are feeding backMy heart is filled with the one to whom ı shoutAnd glowing you speak in the friendliest tongue in sentiments of goldAnd oh the sweetest songs are sung and the sweetest lies are toldSo spread this virus and seek yourself you pursue it quite relentlessly when sunday comesYou'll raise hands to sing what a glorious sight to seeYet ı see true art, ı see her, and ı see youAnd father you inspire me to sing to youYou inspire me to sing to youBurn all the flags and the money, sacrifice and laughThe light in your eyes reflects and ı see myselfAnd all ı want to be for you ı'll give everything,Just to linger on your lips and feel your fingertips, you are an angelArt is not the world, art is in our heartAnd so ı am the prince of sounds that make ears ringMy princess kiss me with your sweet lips and lo,My heart will sing if art is in yourself,Or in a class at school if art is ego and selfishness,And at the mercy of primitive tools we sing sweet good-byes in screams and screechesAnd bury these knives in your heartNo paintings or poems to let you live onWe've seen the last of art as servants and loversWe wash your feet and cry out into the dark the noise, the beauty,The love you bring me stabs these knives right into art art is not the world,Art is in our heartsStab art to death