Lyrics:
skin
And when I feel it, you're wearing thin
But I've got a plan
Why don't you be the artist
And make me out of clay?
Why don't you be the writer
Remember, whatever discipline you're in
Whether you're a musician or a photographer
A fine artist or a cartoonist, a writer, a dancer
A singer,
The artist, however faithful to his
Personal vision of reality
Becomes the last champion of the
Individual mind and sensibility
Against an intrusive
is
To help you put together some words, more than just two letters
The fans waited for this moment
Like that feature when I stole the show
Sorry
Who is Redd Kocaine’
The Mogul
The Brand
A mommy
Thee Artist
Thee Writer
The Female Hussler
There are no lyrics to this track. It is intentionally blank, with each of the 71 seconds representing one of the years that the artist's father,
Your next favourite artist (Artist , Artist , Artist)
You're my favourite artist (Artist)
We're sorry but the artist has decided not to disclose the lyrics for this song.
We're sorry but the artist has decided not to disclose the lyrics for this song.
We're sorry but the artist has decided not to disclose the lyrics for this song.
We're sorry but the artist has decided not to disclose the lyrics for this song.
We're sorry but the artist has decided not to disclose the lyrics for this song.
We're sorry but the artist has decided not to disclose the lyrics for this song.
We're sorry but the artist has decided not to disclose the lyrics for this song.
We're sorry but the artist has decided not to disclose the lyrics for this song.
We're sorry but the artist has decided not to disclose the lyrics for this song.
We're sorry but the artist has decided not to disclose the lyrics for this song.
We're sorry but the artist has decided not to disclose the lyrics for this song.
We're sorry but the artist has decided not to disclose the lyrics for this song.
We're sorry but the artist has decided not to disclose the lyrics for this song.
Good artists copy great artists steal
introduced the oceans to the earth
Well whoever made the snowflakes
Made shadows where doubts lurk
I suspect an artist is at work
I know when an artist
the writers and the artists never leave Mont Parnasse
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