Hp5
Picasso and me
Throwing rocks at the still blue sea
And Brueghel makes three
Dodging dogshit so skillfully
Kathe Kollwitz dropped by
Popped right out of the thick wet sky
Took us all to a hole
Where she'd buried her best friend's soul
What do you say when your brain is on holiday?
Who do you pay when you head for your home
With souvenirs of nothing real?
Hieronymus Bosch
Kindly lent us his Macintosh
With all this triptychs on disk
Seemed to think it was worth the risk
Where do you go when you've finished your final show?
Who else can know all the stuff you've got crammed inside
The head you call your own?
Edward Kienholz made tea
Accidentally spilled over me
Said "Ted, please leave it be!
Just watch the steam curling off my knee!"
What do you say when your brain is on holiday?
Who do you pay when you head for your home
With souvenirs of nothing real?
Where do you go when you've finished your final show?
Who else can know all the stuff you've got crammed inside
The head you call your own?
Who do you tell about the way lovers smell?
Through heaven and hell in the back of a battered
Box of metal on the run
Now it's just me
Watching ripples, distractedly
Throwing rocks at the still blue sea
And Brueghel makes three
Dodging dogshit so skillfully
Kathe Kollwitz dropped by
Popped right out of the thick wet sky
Took us all to a hole
Where she'd buried her best friend's soul
What do you say when your brain is on holiday?
Who do you pay when you head for your home
With souvenirs of nothing real?
Hieronymus Bosch
Kindly lent us his Macintosh
With all this triptychs on disk
Seemed to think it was worth the risk
Where do you go when you've finished your final show?
Who else can know all the stuff you've got crammed inside
The head you call your own?
Edward Kienholz made tea
Accidentally spilled over me
Said "Ted, please leave it be!
Just watch the steam curling off my knee!"
What do you say when your brain is on holiday?
Who do you pay when you head for your home
With souvenirs of nothing real?
Where do you go when you've finished your final show?
Who else can know all the stuff you've got crammed inside
The head you call your own?
Who do you tell about the way lovers smell?
Through heaven and hell in the back of a battered
Box of metal on the run
Now it's just me
Watching ripples, distractedly
Credits
Writer(s): Christopher Alexander Knox
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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