#msp 1994

[iamtryingtobelieve]

"There's more art in a Burger King than in the British Museum today"

Manic Street Preachers - Sculpture of Man (1994)

[iamtryingtobelieve]

Is it a kind of dream

Floating down on the river

Following the river of death down stream

Oh is it a dream?

There's a fog on the horizon

A strange glow in the sky

And nobody knows where you can go

Or what does it mean

Oh, oh is it a dream

Bright eyes

Burning like fire

Bright eyes

How can you close and fade

How can the eyes that burned so brightly

Suddenly turn so pale?

Bright eyes

Is it a kind of shadow

Reaching over the hill

Wandering over the hills unseen

Or is it a dream

There's a high wind in the trees

A cold sound in the air

And nobody knows where you can go

And where do you start

Oh oh, into the dark

[iamtryingtobelieve]

Your idols speak so much of the abyss

Yet your morals only run as deep as the surface

[iamtryingtobelieve]

War censored, no blood on TV Cheap entertainment sold like a new deodorant World War Three, a Sega dreamland I'd take a whore to the funeral

Sculpture of man

Jesus descends, Dachau his father Flanders is a corpse under flowers There's more art in Burger King Than the British museum today

Sculpture of man

Wills and Harry, dressed in drag Standing over the sodomised body of their mother Would make a beautiful poster in Athena

Sculpture of man

[iamtryingtobelieve]

Beauty she is scarred into man's soul A flower attracting lust, vice and sin A vine that can strangle life from a tree Carrion, surrounding, picking on leaves

[iamtryingtobelieve]

Clean your flesh and mock your fears The brightest sun is the purest gun Heal yourself Hurt yourself Judge yourself

[iamtryingtobelieve]

Wherever you go I will be carcass Whatever you see will be rotting flesh Humanity recovered glittering etiquette Answers her crimes with Mausoleum rent

Regained your self-control And regained your self-esteem And blind your success inspires And analyse, despise and scrutinise Never knowing what you hoped for And safe and warm but life is so silent For the victims who have no speech In their shapeless guilty remorse Obliterates your meaning

No birds - no birds The sky is swollen black No birds - no birds Holy mass of dead insect

Come and walk down memory lane No one sees a thing but they can pretend Life eternal scorched grass and trees For your love nature has haemorrhaged

And life can be as important as death But so mediocre when there's no air, no light and no hope Prejudice burns brighter when it's all we have to burn The world lances youth's lamb-like winter, winter

[iamtryingtobelieve]