Cassandra

(Theatre of Tragedy)

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Lyrics:

He gave to her,
Yet tenfold claim'd in return
She hath no life but the one
He for her wrought
Proffer'd to her his wauking heart
She turn'd it down,
Ripostéd with a telltale lore
Of lies and scorn
Prophetess or fond?,
Tho' her parle of truth:
"I ken tomorrow
Refell me if ye can!"
Yet the kiss and breath,
Apollo's bane
Sëer of the future, not of twain,
«Sicker!», quoth Cassandra
Still, is she lief
And quaint in his eyne,
A sight divine?
A mistress fuell´d by his
Prest haughtiness
If he did grant,
Wherefore then did
He not foresee,
Belike egal as it to him
Might be?!
Prophetess or fond?,
Tho' her parle of truth:
"I ken tomorrow
Refell me if ye can!"
Yet the kiss and breath,
Apollo's bane
Sëer of the future, not of twain,
«Sicker!», quoth Cassandra
Or was he an æriéd being,
Or was he weening alack nay mo
Her naysay' raught his heart,
Her daffing was
The grave of all hope
She beliéd her own words,
He thought her life,
save moreo'er scourge,
She held him august, yet wee
He left her ne'er
Without his heart
Tho' her parle of truth:
"I ken tomorrow
Refell me if ye can!"
Yet the kiss and breath,
Apollo's bane
Sëer of the future, not of twain,
«Sicker!», quoth Cassandra
Prophetess or fond?,
Tho' her parle of truth:
"I ken tomorrow
Refell me if ye can!"
Yet the kiss and breath,
Apollo's bane
Sëer of the future, not of twain,
«Sicker!», quoth Cassandra
Or was he an æriéd being,
Or was he weening alack nay mo
Her naysay' raught his heart,
Her daffing was
The grave of all hope
She beliéd her own words,
He thought her life,
Save moreo'er scourge,
She held him august, yet wee
He left her ne'er
Without his heart
Or was he an æriéd being,
Or was he weening alack nay mo
Her naysay' raught his heart,
Her daffing was
The grave of all hope