| Shall we use needles or knives to realign your spine?
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| The tissue degenerates so rapidly
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| Perhaps it proves it is the time to cover your face
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| And smile at me to see if I am out of sight
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| Denying ventricle flow revel in your plight tonight
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| You’re such a wonderful person to know
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| And my name will rest in utter disdain
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| My resentment receives its wings for flight
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| You deceitfully stroll on just the same into your holy light
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| With music destroyed, we’ll only create noise
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| Sweet dissonance is all that you’ll have left
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| We’ll dance across its grave
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| The art of singing empty praise with knives of hope and peace stab art to death
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| I’ve watched it on its drugs
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| And I’ve seen the doctors shrug cerebellums withered up
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| The heart is black
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| No scalpel, pill or stitch, no religious sales pitch
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| Will ever bring the art that’s dying back
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| And so we are the heirs, of this glowing lack of care our hearts in one discord
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| We all cry out for blood and spit we clap, the amps are feeding back
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| My heart is filled with the one to whom I shout
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| And glowing you speak in the friendliest tongue in sentiments of gold
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| And oh the sweetest songs are sung and the sweetest lies are told
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| So spread this virus and seek yourself you pursue it quite relentlessly when
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| Sunday comes
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| You’ll raise hands to sing what a glorious sight to see
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| Yet I see true art, I see her, and I see you
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| And Father you inspire me to sing to you
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| You inspire me to sing to you
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| Burn all the flags and the money, sacrifice and laugh
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| The light in your eyes reflects and I see myself
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| And all I want to be for you I’ll give everything
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| Just to linger on your lips and feel your fingertips, you are an angel
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| Art is not the world, art is in our heart
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| And so I am the prince of sounds that make ears ring
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| My princess kiss me with your sweet lips and lo
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| My heart will sing if art is in yourself
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| Or in a class at school if art is ego and selfishness
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| And at the mercy of primitive tools we sing sweet good-byes in screams and
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| screeches
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| And bury these knives in your heart
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| No paintings or poems to let you live on
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| We’ve seen the last of art as servants and lovers
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| We wash your feet and cry out into the dark the noise, the beauty
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| The love you bring me stabs these knives right into art art is not the world
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| Art is in our hearts
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| Stab art to death |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Stabbing Art To Death , by - Showbread. Song from the album No Sir, Nihilism Is Not Practical, in the genre Пост-хардкор