The great composers, naked
A lineup of mug shots
Exposed for Sir Death to stare at
Their pride tacked to the gates of hell
Their testimonies lie
The truth is,
Half of them hanged themselves.
And the other half were driven to insanity,
And stoned by the citizens
It's a revolutionary world, sons
The blue turns on red
But nothing. ever. turns. purple.
Nothing. ever. changes.
And if everyone had a choice between death
And their prides tacked to hell's gates,
They'd choose death,
So they can go Down Under, if only to reclaim their prides before they burn
The world is a hole
Death is the bottom
You'd best have a parachute
And a million dollars' worth of goats and chickens for the poor won't get you out alive,
But I've heard if you strip yourself?
It's a better ride
And a softer landing?