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When we're young we set our hearts
Upon some beautiful idea
Maybe something from a holy book
Or French philosophia
Upon the thoughts of better men
Than us we swear by and decree a
Perfect way to end the war of
Ways the only way to be a
Work of art oh to be a work of art
Work of art oh to be a work of art
But in time a thought comes tugging
On the sleeve edge of our minds
Perhaps no perfect way exists at all
Just many different kinds
Oh but if it's just a thing of taste
Then everything unwinds
For without an absolute how
Can the absolute define
A work of art oh to be a work of art
A work of art oh to be a work of art
When we're young we set our
Hearts upon some beautiful idea
Maybe something from a holy
Book or French philosophia
