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