Stabbing Art to Death

Shall we use needles or knives to realign your spine?
The tissue degenerates so rapidly,
Perhaps it proves it is the time
To cover your face and smile at me,
To see if I am out of sight, denying ventricle flow,
Revel in your plight tonight, you're such a wonderful person to know,
And my name will rest in utter disdain,
My resentment receives its wings for flight,
You deceitfully stroll on just the same into your holy light.

With music destroyed, we'll only create noise,
Sweet dissonance is all that you'll have left,
We'll dance across its grave, The art of singing empty praise,
With knives of hope and peace, Stab art to death.

And glowing you speak in the friendliest tongue sentinments of gold,
And oh the sweetest songs are sung and the sweetest lies are told,
So spread this virus and seek yourself you pursue it quite relentlessly,
When Sunday comes you'll raise your hands to sing,
What a glorious sight to see.

Yet I see true art, I see her, and I see you,
And Father you inspire me to sing to you,
You inspire me to sing to you,
Burn all the flags and the money sacrifice and laugh,
For you I'll give everything,
Just to linger on your lips and feel your fingertips,
You are an angel,
Art is not the world, Art is in our heart,
And so I am the prince of sounds that make ears ring,
My 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 goodbyes in screams and screeches and bury these knives in your heart,
No paintings or poems to let you live on we've seen the last of art,
As servants and lovers we wash your feet and we cry out into the dark,
The noise, the beauty, the love you bring me stabs the knives right into art,
Art is not the world, Art is in our hearts, Stab art to death.