With tender heart and feet of washed up gold With eyes that burn where never sun begins, The heart of all the pieces that were sold The eyes of all the devil's painted sins. The aching and the bliss are slowly poured Into the spaces that were left unfilled, Where all the fiery animals have roared And all the men of diamond have been killed. We speak not twice of leisure's twisted brow We speak not how the whys and wishings go We speak only of wanting left and now We summon up the courage left to show For every word that's uttered with a kiss, Is trampled under sordid feet of bliss.

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