The Art Bee (437 Pieces in the Sky)
Af Klaus Emilius
All right now they say you can’t fly watch meA bumblebee doesn’t know that it cannot fly
just lifts its wings and it’s the sky
They call me the rp working through mud,
green concert volunteers pumping in my blood.
Jean-Michel Jarre in 2002, north of Denmark rain,
I was laughing through the pain.
Turning 30, yawning, looking at the jerselling trees.
Rented the community house, doing exactly what I please.
With seagulls screaming outside, fields of yellow and green.
Living in my yellow row house, a quiet rebel on the scene
Omkvæd:
Fly, bee, fly, no one can stop my sound
High in the sky, I’ll tell you, structure down
They said it’s Becker’s dystrophy, they wrote it in their files
But I am Klaus Emilius, I’m driving 30 miles
I like to paint, I like to spark. I like to provoke.
My life is a masterpiece and your rules are a joke.
Five years with a computer, 80 gigabytes of power.
Photoshop 7 running every single hour.
Taking my digital camera out in my car.
Turning autumn forest pink and nature too far.
Taking nature to track. I designed a CD cover.
Yeah, I never look back.
Only 19 in Denmark share this grandfather’s name in the old gullible game.
Died right on the stage, just like Dirch Passer did.
I painted for my mother’s funeral before the coffin lit.
Omkvæd:
Fly, bee, fly. No one can stop my sound.
High in the sky. Until you’re structured down.
They said it’s Becker’s dystrophy
They wrote it in their files
But I am Klaus Emilius
I’m driving 30 miles
I like to paint, I like to spark
I like to provoke
My life is a masterpiece
And your rules are a joke
Eggpond, hoist gold days, blocking R’s, museum doors
Wheelchair barricade, fighting for the laws
They think I know nothing about the Rolltech
Electric chair, I took that sucker apart
437 pieces in the air
Hanging it in a coordinate system up from the roof
I wanted to blow it up, my installation was approved
In Berlin, I had written Prusin Hall
The guards started screaming but I’d had a war tape
One I sued at the Randers Town Hall show
Smashed a painting into pieces, let the popcorn blow
Sitting twenty-four hours in a chair that cannot lay
If I built the Rolltech it wouldn’t be this way
You could change it in minutes exactly as you would
Everything can be fixed if it’s engineered good
I am slightly dyslexic but my mind is a knife
I hate Mondays on the table, a diary of my life
437 pieces hanging in the sky
I am the Art Bee
Er der flere stærke mænd?
Af Klaus Emilius
[Verse]Hen over festpladsen
Råbende, nærmest syngende
[Chorus]
Er der flere stærke mænd?
Herkules! Herkules!
Er der flere stærke mænd?
[Verse 2]
Hen over festpladsen
Råbende, nærmest syngende
[Chorus]
Er der flere stærke mænd?
Herkules! Herkules!
Er der flere stærke mænd?
