I'm a lover of my museThe critics are so rudeThe crowds are empty and cruelBut it's artYou call it artI'm not owned by anyoneI don't owe to anythingI can tell who he is"Baby, it's part of art"I'm not the subject, I'm the set on fireNot framed, I'm spilledYou call it mess, aftermathCurtain down, oh, black outExit sign, echo down the stairsMonologue but bruised backstageThe truth isOne momentYou say "I'll lay you down by fire"One moment"Baby, please keep my secrets to my enemy"Oh, babyWhy would I?A-haA-haA-haA-haNothing rehearsed, all of it was realI wasn't the icon, just the incidentLovers of artistsProof of what I'm doingPeople love to watch itTake my photo, bitchesPut me in your thesisBlueprints fractured without meCalled it a breakdownFine, make it modern art, then