Category : Songs
Sub Category : Rock
all things are art
most of them, the material things and copied words, in which we slumber, in which we dream and lay unconscious
'cause we grow and we were born
and we saw and heard few of them with our first blink.
when we were infants, we knew god's an artist and we were works of art
and we believed we were blood in an infinite vein
til the Devil came and made us think we are just a stain, wiped away.
nonsense's there to make us stupid
to feel carefree and not alone, get addicted and lose our eyesight
you're all little ignorant masochists, paying positive attention to the money-tongue
devouring it's twin-paper-babies that the humans suffocate in pockets.
Working is child purchase.
There''s enough negative art for everybody
there's enough evil art for everybody
there's enough false art for everybody
there's enough bad art for everybody.
Sex, drugs, money, materialism and misogyny,
that's teasing the Devil.
Nothing's too much
mass production fills our holes
covering up our deficits
we want that all, cause we identify with the Stain, wiped away
and the more we buy, the more the holes get bigger
so we waste more, more, more and more money
to feel something and stuff the emptiness that's in us.
words may only be sound
but they can be used in all the ways the throat's dancing
encouragements can be healers, but humiliations can sting and pump their poison deeper
jokes, they'll make you laugh and cry, or feel like a soft rope tied around your throat, choking you.
words, you can learn from them and steal a lesson from them, til they're naked, hiding in the other's mouth
truths are just bubble-gums, that can be chewed into lies
the artist's choice of words, that's a womb for unknown infinity.
Everyday life is a lover that won't leave
but most of us are in its power
so we accept it so easily
and we still kiss, make out and fuck our abusive partner, til its joining us to death.