Black as the Devil Painteth (Das Ich Remix - Remastered) Lyrics
Black as the Devil Painteth (Das Ich Remix - Remastered) - 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