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! Pa**ionless it quivereth, Minding not that my hands are more than apt; My Muse! Where is hidden The blue-huéd arch 'neath the High Heaven's rich emblazonry, The flowery meadow, embrac'd by the horizon — snowflak'd and aery mountains, In which the bare-breasted 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 sk**fully paintéd? I thought that love would last forever... I was wrong! The raven sky prey'd on by the snowfill'd, blustery clouds, Unadornéd the meadow — hunger driveth the wolf out of the wood, The maidens chain'd and whipp'd within a dreary dungeon — And, lo! 'twixt the wizen roses a mossy grave: "The Devil is as Black as he Painteth" — O Canvas! wherefore?...