I'm a lover of my muse The critics are so rude The crowds are empty and cruel But it's art You call it art I'm not owned by anyone I don't owe to anything I can tell who he is "Baby, it's part of art" I'm not the subject, I'm the set on fire Not framed, I'm spilled You call it mess, aftermath Curtain down, oh, black out Exit sign, echo down the stairs Monologue but bruised backstage The truth is One moment You say "I'll lay you down by fire" One moment "Baby, please keep my secrets to my enemy" Oh, baby Why would I? A-ha A-ha A-ha A-ha Nothing rehearsed, all of it was real I wasn't the icon, just the incident Lovers of artists Proof of what I'm doing People love to watch it Take my photo, bitches Put me in your thesis Blueprints fractured without me Called it a breakdown Fine, make it modern art, then