A man came up from anywhere
and cut the edge so close
that it could not be ignored.
The people gasped and grabbed their hearts,
the sky -- it danced and shook the dark,
and everywhere the people wanted more.
Changed the history of the scene,
hit it like a bomb if you know what I mean.
He was the next Beethoven or the next Van Gough,
a brand new Edgar Allen Poe.
Anticipation was rising for the second work,
to give their existence another needed perk
(and they were)
Waiting for another hit.
Waiting for another hit.
Waiting for another hit.
Waiting for another hit.
The critics hated it,
they chewed it up and spat it out.
Some called it high art,
some said it wasn't high enough.
So, what do you say?
So, do what you say.
Meanwhile,
some found the true meaning of art
that lay not in the perception
but deep within the heart.
The spit will dry on their faces
and they will be all the better for it.
What do you say?
Do what you say.
Don't wait for this.
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