Black as the Devil Painteth (Remix)

Black as the Devil Painteth (Remix) - Theatre Of Tragedy

An artist is what is call'd the self the brush holdeth

Though hath it then caringly caress'd the Canvas of tomorrow

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-hued arch'neath the High Heaven's rich emblazonry

The flowery meadow embrac'd by the horizon

Snowflaked and aery mountains

In which the barebreasted maidens dance to the lay o'midsummer

Aloft the distant lazy flapping of the doves in vaingfore

O Canvas wherefore canst thou these images not allow

I deem a projection of my Theatre they sould be

Then I challenge thee the wisdom of naysaying the yearns o'mine

What is this unforeseen that not enjoyneth light

Shades to be skillfully painted

The raven sky prey'd on by the snowfill'd blustery clouds

Unadorned the meadow hunger driveth the wolf out of the wood

The maidens chained and whipped within a dreary dungeon

And fo twixt the wizen roses a mossy grave

The Devil is as Black as He Painteth

O Canvas wherefore