Young flesh on the altar
Is art and tragedy
But my crabbed sneering form
Is no-one's idea
Of an elegant icon
I'm no beacon to generations
If I did the right thing
It was merely circumstance
I am a just a vessel
For shameful, private love
My meat and cooling blood
Lie on the stones
My sacrifice is adequate
The job is done.
Is art and tragedy
But my crabbed sneering form
Is no-one's idea
Of an elegant icon
I'm no beacon to generations
If I did the right thing
It was merely circumstance
I am a just a vessel
For shameful, private love
My meat and cooling blood
Lie on the stones
My sacrifice is adequate
The job is done.