Lyrics

I’ve been working all day
At the red vineyard
I’ve been working all night, double time
To keep dreams alive

I try to get by,
you ask me how
Working all night
at a museum in Moscow

I keep walking by
Such a pretty sight

Maybe this is it?
Maybe I’ve died on the vine
Maybe this is it?
Maybe this is mine?

I keep slaving away
At this notepad and notes app
If it is fate
Then the lightning can’t wait
If I can’t create
A great performance or toe tap
I’ll Punish myself, toe tag
Time to self-flagellate

The workers in Arles try
Desperate to grow
I keep wondering why
Vincent had to go, go, go!

Maybe this is it?
Maybe I’ve died on the vine
Maybe this is it?
Maybe this is mine?
Maybe this is shit
Maybe it is divine
Comedy spits
On weathered smile lines

Is it so juvenile
to want to be the fly at your funeral?
A ghost all consumable
Rince these dirty hands before I haunt ya
I’m not in denial
I to want to be the fly at my funeral
Is it so fucking unusual
To want to see the guest list, Lizstomania?

Is it so silly now
To want to see the walls of the gallery
With words so damn flowery
Looking for the fall of anatomy
But really how
Can I see the walls of the gallery
To ride like the Valkyrie
Without a wild cap on the salary
I could afford to burn another calorie