Stabbing Art To Death Lyrics
| Song | Stabbing Art To Death |
| Artist | Showbread |
| Album | No Sir, Nihilism Is Not Practical |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作曲 : Dies | |
| Shall we use needles or knives to realign your spine? | |
| The tissue degenerates so rapidly | |
| Perhaps it proves it is the time to cover up 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 | |
| I've watched it on its drugs | |
| And I've seen the doctors shrug | |
| Cerebellums withered up | |
| The heart is black | |
| No scalpel, pill or stitch, no religious sales pitch | |
| Will ever bring the art that's dying back | |
| And so we are the heirs of this glowing lack of care | |
| Our hearts in one discord | |
| We all cry out for blood and spit we clap | |
| The amps are feeding back | |
| My heart is filled with the one to whom | |
| I shoutAnd glowing you speak in the friendliest tongue | |
| In sentiments 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 hands to sing what a glorious sight to see | |
| Yet I see true art | |
| I see her and | |
| I see youAnd 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 | |
| The light in your eyes reflects and | |
| I see myself | |
| And all I want to be 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 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 hearts | |
| Stab art to death |
| zuo qu : Dies | |
| Shall we use needles or knives to realign your spine? | |
| The tissue degenerates so rapidly | |
| Perhaps it proves it is the time to cover up 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 | |
| I' ve watched it on its drugs | |
| And I' ve seen the doctors shrug | |
| Cerebellums withered up | |
| The heart is black | |
| No scalpel, pill or stitch, no religious sales pitch | |
| Will ever bring the art that' s dying back | |
| And so we are the heirs of this glowing lack of care | |
| Our hearts in one discord | |
| We all cry out for blood and spit we clap | |
| The amps are feeding back | |
| My heart is filled with the one to whom | |
| I shoutAnd glowing you speak in the friendliest tongue | |
| In sentiments 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 hands to sing what a glorious sight to see | |
| Yet I see true art | |
| I see her and | |
| I see youAnd 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 | |
| The light in your eyes reflects and | |
| I see myself | |
| And all I want to be 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 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 hearts | |
| Stab art to death |
| zuò qǔ : Dies | |
| Shall we use needles or knives to realign your spine? | |
| The tissue degenerates so rapidly | |
| Perhaps it proves it is the time to cover up 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 | |
| I' ve watched it on its drugs | |
| And I' ve seen the doctors shrug | |
| Cerebellums withered up | |
| The heart is black | |
| No scalpel, pill or stitch, no religious sales pitch | |
| Will ever bring the art that' s dying back | |
| And so we are the heirs of this glowing lack of care | |
| Our hearts in one discord | |
| We all cry out for blood and spit we clap | |
| The amps are feeding back | |
| My heart is filled with the one to whom | |
| I shoutAnd glowing you speak in the friendliest tongue | |
| In sentiments 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 hands to sing what a glorious sight to see | |
| Yet I see true art | |
| I see her and | |
| I see youAnd 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 | |
| The light in your eyes reflects and | |
| I see myself | |
| And all I want to be 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 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 hearts | |
| Stab art to death |
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