Warhol

Lyrics

You're standing right dead on the masking-tape cross
Smiling for the red eye, showing what you brought
You’re having a run, the dog is doing great
Balancing a saber on a china dinner plate
But my thumb knows the pressure on the stopwatch crown
Without even looking, I feel it winding down
The sweep hand is climbing up the left side of the glass
And the hardest part is how fast it has to pass

So give 'em everything you have before the buzzer sounds
Pour your whole entire life into the open lens
The earth is spinning heavy, going round and round
But right now you are making eighty thousand friends
It’s a golden little ration of a holy, burning bright
Before we cut to local ads and swallow up the light

It is minute fourteen and the panic sets in
I can see the heavy water breaking on your chin
The dog is getting tired and the sword begins to slip
You bite down a little on your lower lip
Don't look at the monitor, kid.
Just keep selling the impossible thing you did.
The smear of orange pancake on your collarbone
Will be the only thing you take back home

So give 'em everything you have before the buzzer sounds
Pour your whole entire life into the open lens
The earth is spinning heavy, going round and round
But right now you are making eighty thousand friends
It’s a golden little ration of a holy, burning bright
Before we cut to local ads and swallow up the light

I’ve stood beside a thousand on this linoleum mark
I am the one who pulls the cord and leaves you in the dark
It’s a brutal arithmetic, this measuring of grace
But God, I love the desperate glory on your face

The sweep hand shudders at the top of the dial.
You freeze in a rigid, terrified smile.
And we are clear.
Wipe the sweat off the floor.
Send in the guy with the giant squash.