All of the rowboats in the paintings
They keep trying to row away,
And the captains' worried faces
Stay contorted and staring at the waves.
They’ll keep hanging in their gold frames
For forever, forever and a day.
All of the rowboats in the oil paintings,
They keep trying to row away.
I Hear them whispering, French and German.
Dutch, Italian, and Latin.
When no one’s looking I touch a sculpture
Marble, cold and soft as satin.
But the most special are the most lonely
God, I pity the violins.
In glass coffins they keep coughing
They’ve forgotten how to sing.
First there’s lights out, then there’s lock up,
Masterpieces serving maximum sentences.
It’s their own fault for being timeless,
There’s a price to pay and a consequence.
All the galleries, the museums
Here’s your ticket, welcome to the tombs.
They are just public mausoleums,
The living dead fill every room
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 6:29 PM UTC
All of the rowboats in the paintings
They keep trying to row away,
And the captains' worried faces
Stay contorted and staring at the waves.
They’ll keep hanging in their gold frames
For forever, forever and a day.
All of the rowboats in the oil paintings,
They keep trying to row away.
I Hear them whispering, French and German.
Dutch, Italian, and Latin.
When no one’s looking I touch a sculpture
Marble, cold and soft as satin.
But the most special are the most lonely
God, I pity the violins.
In glass coffins they keep coughing
They’ve forgotten how to sing.
First there’s lights out, then there’s lock up,
Masterpieces serving maximum sentences.
It’s their own fault for being timeless,
There’s a price to pay and a consequence.
All the galleries, the museums
Here’s your ticket, welcome to the tombs.
They are just public mausoleums,
The living dead fill every room
