The desire to be an artist, To be a poet, to be immortal. Knowing there's a land of words If I can only reach the portal. Drown in ****** and Wine In a tub filled to the brim, Letting France run down my throat, Letting France run down my chin. Words lay at the bottom Of every bottle (or so they say) Convincing us it's worth the ***** And the headache the next day. Kiss goodbye the sound mind, And enter insanity. Welcome to the world of arts With streets of vanity. There stands Shakespeare on the balcony; Kurt Cobain sits in the corner. This place you are one Where anywhere else you are a foreigner. Here there is no day. Here there is only night. Here you sit making art By the candle light. But here there is no laughter, For an artists knows no joy. Instead here lies the dreams Of all the dead girls and boys. And here there is no rest, For an artist knows no peace. Here is the land of artists. Is it everything you dreamed?