Из альбома: To Mourn Is a Virtue
Bitter-sweet nostalgia
Desire pulls hard,
But it's too late.
Dead are all my virtues
And gifts.
It dulls not any pains,
And hard covet
Reaps a poor harvest
In these latter days.
Starve me in
Boneman torture.
Skin-tight lover.
Pound upon pound
Of flesh paid well
With gnawing ache,
And hunger.
But your want lies asleep,
Under frozen layers of ignorance.
Or even fear.
Dressed in sacrilege,
I sprawl in hurt
And wear thorns
Just for you.
Read My Scars,
Count my sorrows,
But see me!
'Lest the cruel beauty
In my song face the trial
Of deaf ears.
And that is truly worse than death.
I dance in your spirit
And sleep so well in your arms.
Awake unattainable one
Awake