Lyrics:
The trouble with a classicist he looks at a tree That's all he sees, he paints a tree The trouble with a classicist he looks at the sky He doesn't
The trouble with a classicist he looks at a tree That's all he sees, he paints a tree The trouble with a classicist he looks at the sky He doesn't
The trouble with a classicist he looks at a tree That's all he sees, he paints a tree The trouble with a classicist he looks at the sky He doesn't
The trouble with a classicist he looks at a tree That's all he sees, he paints a tree The trouble with a classicist he looks at the sky He doesn't
to love you Seaside goddess I want to see you Like a classicist sees Venus I know, I know, I know it takes A lot, a lot out of you each day To see yourself
balance, or it will, it will One of them will destroy the other I do my best to sleep through the caterwaul The classicist, the posturing avant-garde I
I do my best to sleep through the caterwaul The classicist, the posturing avant-garde I bought a grey macaw, named him Jules Verne He'll probably
negative entendre, passive pacifist I spit classic shit, studied by the classicists Innocent carcinogen, benign plasma cyst I'm tapping truth like the veins
or else there´ll be blood in the snow' ever was a classicist a penchant for grim gore never an apologist with fantasies of yore ever was a narcissist
masochist Damaging Strategists Poetic classicist Passionate Had evinced You can see me chilling with the drink under the canopy It had to be But I feel like
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