The muse woke up And she was blown away, So many people talking But not a thing to say. Everyone’s got Creations born From heat and lust, Not from the heart. Reason’s retired. Passion’s gone cold. The poet’s been shot down. The banker’s got his gold. Politicians and thieves Kiss in alleyways. Artists on their pedestals Are built by those who pay. A cultural machine Filters with brutal force Anything that's too free To keep you on the course. It’s all so clear, What’s coming out, no doubt, A pile of bad art, From virtuosos without soul, And loudmouth fools who shout. Poor ol' muse, She’s so lost. So many fools With egos big as a house. But she spreads her wings, And starts to fly high, Right above your home, She feels you come alive. She’s right behind you now, Blowin’ words into the wind, The music flows so freely, And you just dive right in. And now the muse is smiling, She wants to kiss your lips. You feel the fire burning, She grins, then she slips. With such big inspiration, Born from wild passion, With a crazy wild expression, You finish up another song. And the muse... The muse falls asleep. And the muse... The muse falls asleep. And the muse... The muse falls asleep.
