Theatre Of Tragedy - Black As The Devil Painteth (remix) Lyrics
An Artist Is What Is Call`d The Self That The Brush Holdeth -
though Hath It Then Caringly Caress`d The
canvas Of To-morrow?,
o Canvas! For Thee I Hold My Tool - Still! Passionless It Quivereth,
minding Not That My Hands Are More Than Apt;
my Muse,
where Is Hidden
the Blue-hud Arch`neath The High Heaven`s Rich Emblazonry,
the Flowery Meadow, Embrac`d By The Horizon - Snowflakd And Aery
mountains,
in Which The Barebreastd Maidens Dance To The Lay O` Midsummer,
aloft The Distant Lazy Flapping Of The Doves In Vainglore.
o Canvas!, Wherefore Canst Thou These Images Not Allow? -
i Deem A Projection Of My Theatre They Should Be! -
then, I Challenge Thee The Wisdom Of Naysaying The Yearns O` Mine -
what Is This Unforseen That Not Enjoineth Light Shades To Be Skillfully
paintd?
the Raven Sky Prey`d On By The Snowfill`d, Blustery Clouds,
unadornd The Meadow - Hunger Driveth The Wolf Out Of The Wood,
the Maidens Chaind And Whippd Within A Dreary Dungeon -
and, Lo! `twixt The Wizen Roses A Mossy Grave:
`the Devil Is As Black As He Painteth` -
o Canvas! Wherefore?...
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