paroles de chanson Undead Happy Trees - Tom Smith

Life is art, and art is life, that's what I used to think
Till the happy little accident that's pushed Earth to the brink
The dead are rising everywhere, on human flesh they feed,
They always ask for brains because they know that's what they need,
But somehow I got lucky, because I'm still pretty smart,
Either that, or my profession didn't need much brains to start,
The other zombies shamble, they move and think so slow,
So they're the perfect audience for my painting show

Load your two-inch brush with liquid white, but don't you let it dry,
Phthalo Blue and Cadmium Yellow sweeping 'cross the sky
Broad strokes with Mountain Mixture, stippled with Dutch Elm Disease
Pull down and gently brush across, and look there... you've got
Undead happy trees.

As zombies, we don't have the fine control for small details
So stick a number six fan brush
Right through your hand, that never fails,
A palette knife is good for rolling on some Van Dyke Brown
And also slicing pieces off that guy you grabbed uptown
Now add some shrubs and undergrowth and a riverbank with stones
And another layer of Liquid White for all the skulls and bones,
For living flesh, use Alizarin Crimson and Bright Red,
A few circles and some thin dark
Lines, and look there... severed heads!

Now some blue and crimson mixed together finish off that sky,
Just because you're dead and rotting is no reason not to try,
There's an artist deep inside you, he went well with wine and cheese,
And his family is fleeing to be caught by... the
Undead happy trees.

Now, the mountains should be greens
And browns on top of orange streaks
Which represent the glow of towns
That have burned back there for weeks
And the bodies bobbing in the river should be reds and grays
Use Titanium White to highlight those that've been there several days
Add some details to the foreground, broken toys, someone's lost shoe,
Now it's finished, add your signature -- yes, yes, an "X" will do,
Be sure to take care of your tools, don't let palatte knives get dull,
And clean your brushes, whack them dry, on an easel or a skull.

Each painting is a new world, made how I want it to be,
And so my world's a happy place, my zombie friends and me,
Humanity may all succumb, but I will take my ease
And paint the screaming victims of my new friends... the
Undead happy trees.