The Architect: I wish I could start over, I wish I could ignore The voice that led me astray The aching in my heart, my soul is empty and torn apart Yet all I care is this, will she love me someday?
The Teacher: Don’t you let her distant words get through your shell The Architect: It’s all too little and much too late The Teacher: Come forth tribulation, don’t you dwell Let me soften this wretched fate
Don’t let these words get through your shell Shed this boy’s skin, become a man Come forth emerging passion; give in to its charms Welcome these embracing, yearning arms
This desire’s incomplete And fell onto this world The Teacher & The Architect: A song left unsung, at the top of my lungs The Teacher: With no answers I will never admit
The Teacher & The Architect: These venomous throes of rejection But I feel, if I must, as this lust turns to dust Torn asunder
Choir: We weave a web of silky spins Old Samson’s hair grows gray and thin No guiding hand, our journey ends Before it begins The wolves that prey our lovers’ bed The howls disguised as serenades Our sharpened teeth, that yearn to taste It all turns to sand
Storyteller: Nomads had often sung Of heroes’ tragic passion And despite the modern age They will sing once more Still in our dreams, faces Are kissing us sweet and precious An ever missing goddamn cupid Yet Lets us die alone…