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Ninety-nine rooms in the Pharaoh's tombs |
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He was young and hungry king |
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He spent a lot of time in his room, staring at the moon |
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And he loved to hear the young girls sing |
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Remember as you bleed for the artist |
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He only goes the hardest way |
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And as you plead for him to start this |
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You live to hear the artist to say: |
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I love you! |
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So let the criticism start |
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And blow that poison dart |
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You never disrespect |
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The artist or his art |
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It's such a tender heart |
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The one that creates the art |
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Sixty-nine dudes just to get you in the mood |
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I got some issues with your style, girl |
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If my desires do intrude this pleasant interlude |
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I'll probably stay here a little while, girl |
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And now you bleed for the artist |
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Though it might not be the smartest play |
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And as you try to tear apart this |
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You live to hear the artist say: |
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I love you! |
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So let the nihilism start |
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And read a little Sartre |
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You never deselect |
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The artist or his art |
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It's such a wild heart |
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The one that bleeds the art |
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Descend these scales of hollow coarse tressed girls of angels on my heart |
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Statues of males and Christs adorn, but begs the question "Is this art?" |
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Hey, bleed for the artist |
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He only goes the hardest way |
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And as you plead for him to start this |
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You live to hear the artist say: |
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That's right! |
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So throw your items in the cart |
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And burn the Super Mart |
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You can never separate |
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The artist from the art |
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What finally stopped my heart |
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Where to start? |
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Where to start? |
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Where to start? |
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We are the young and hungry patrons of the arts |
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We are the young and hungry patrons of the arts |
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What finally stopped my heart |
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What finally stopped my heart |
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Goo, goo, goo, goo, goo, goo |
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Spoken: I thought...is that the end of the song? |
