Black As The Devil Painteth Lyrics - Der Tanz Der Schatten - Theatre Of Tragedy

An artist is what is call'd the self the brush holdeth - 

Though hath it then caringly caress'd the Canvas of tomorrow? 

O Canvas! for thee I hold my tool - still passionless it quivereth 

Minding not that my hands are more than apt; 

My Muse, 

Where is hidden 

The blue-hued arch'neath the High Heaven's rich emblazonry 

The flowery meadow, embrac'd by the horizon - 

snowflaked and aery mountains, 

In which the barebreasted maidens dance to the lay o'midsummer, 

Aloft the distant lazy flapping of the doves in vaingfore. 

O Canvas! wherefore canst thou these images not allow? - 

I deem a projection of my Theatre they sould be! - 

Then, I challenge thee the wisdom of naysaying the yearns o'mine - 

What is this unforeseen that not enjoyneth light 

shades to be skillfully painted? 

The raven sky prey'd on by the snowfill'd, blustery clouds 

Unadorned the meadow - hunger driveth the wolf out of the wood, 

The maidens chained and whipped within a dreary dungeon - 

And, fo! 'twixt the wizen roses a mossy grave; 

"The Devil is as Black as He Painteth" - 

O Canvas! wherefore?...