The Heart The Heart The Heart How

My Eye-balls Are Glass, My Limbs Marble, My Face Fixed In Its Marble Mask.

A Slight Wind Shakes The Seed-pods My Thoughts Are Spent As The Black Seeds.

There Must Be Real Gods See, The Painted Gods How Fair!

The Heart The Heart The Heart How It Thrives On Hate.

I Will Be Free, No Lover's Kiss To Bind Me To Earth, No Bliss Of Love To Counteract Actual Bliss.