Stabbing Art To Death Lyrics - No Sir, Nihilism Is Not Practical - Showbread

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 shout 

And 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 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 

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