My eyes are sown open Unable to close And I'm stung by the breeze That my memory blows And the breeze fans the fire That began as a spark The blind old street singer Sings songs in the dark But where are the songs of the beauty?
The old organ grinder Has just gone insane And his monkey lays dead Choked to death by its chain And the cup it lies empty It hasn't a dime My heart beat is slowed Into three-four time And where are the songs of my beauty?
The anger of emptiness Jumps from the queen As she summons her jester To dance and to sing But the jester is crying And refuses to sing He'll die in the morning At the hands of the king But where are the songs of forgiving?