Reason, Magic, Skill and Love,
Frankly, I think poorly of.
Flesh and Figment, Brain and Breath.
All are parodies of Death.
Death alone cant paint it true;
Only Death can say for sure;
Who but Death can sing to you?
Death my dearest, sparse and pure.
Life is but a sorrowing haze
Through which we grope; and our five senses,
Trammeling snares. In all our way
Artists put their subtle fences:
Telling us that Life is All;
Cheating us with hints of glory;
Charming us. We fail, we fall
Stupefied, and buy their story.
Leave a guest comment (subject to review)
Comments
-
My God!
From guest Steven Patterson (contact)
Never knew this existed! What a stunning lyric. Did Bernstein ever actually set it? -
Adding your comment:
