How often must I shake my bells
And kiss your low forehead O dismal caricature
How many arrows must I shoot and miss
Before I strike the target's mystic lure
We must wear out our souls in subtle schemes
We must dismantle a scaffolding
Before we know the creature of our dreams
That fills our heart with sobs and [Bm]sorrowing
Some never know the idol of their soul
Idol of the soul
Like sculptors damned and [Bm]branded for [Dm7]disgrace
Who hammer upon [C7]their own breast and [Bm]face
They have one hope their somber capitol
That death may ɾise, a sun of another kind
And bring to [C7]blossom the flowers of their mind
At my [A]side the demon [C7]writhes forever
Swimming around me like [F]impalpable air
As I breathe he burns my [A]lungs like [F]a fever
And fills me with an eternal guilty desire
And into [C7]my [A]bewildered eyes he throws
Visions of festering wounds and [Bm]filthy clothes
And all [Em]destɾuction's bloody
