Slow motion in the quiet of your room:
so potent is the smell of her perfume
that you think she's eternal
that you think she's everything
Repentance for all you should have saidher entrance seems to raise you from the dead
and you think she's really with you
and you think she'll always stay.
always ready to forgive you,
always ready to grant you her mercy
When she comes she'll be a stranger,
struck dumb you'll try to protest
as the drum beats out the danger,
too latethat the lady with her skin so white
like something out of Blake or Burnealways blocked out the light
and shadowed all you owned. Still you think she's forever,
yesterday and tomorrow
Still you swear that you can win her
and your prayer is that she'll want you,
aware, once a saint, now you're a sinner
and your sins are going to haunt you
when the lady with her skin so white
like something out of Edgar Allen Poe
holds your hand so tight
and you hope that she'll never let go. Easy targets, easy crossthese key margins leave you balanced on the knife,
bleeding darkly. In the end it all comes down
to sleazy bargains.
That hidden keyall you can concieve is the effort to be worthy.
Even now you need to be reminded
that La Belle Dame is without mercy.
The lady with her skin so white
now she holds you in the night
and she'll never let go again
she'll never let go again.
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