When the bandits have stolen your jewelry and gone

and your crippled young gypsy, he's grown tall and strong

and your dead misconceptions have proven you wrong

well then, princess, where you plannin' to turn to?

when your magazine memory has spun you around

and you realize your lovers were just painted clowns

and outside your window you start hearing sounds

where they're building a cross for to burn you





when all your bright scarlet turn slowly to blue

will you stop and decide that it's over?





When your teardrops go sour and no longer fall

the splash cross the virgin that lives down your hall

and spends all her nights with an ear to your wall

well then, what will you have you can offer?

When the firedancers finish and leave you alone

with nothing but embers and sacks full of stone

that hang round your neck, slicing through to the bone

will there still be place for your laughter?-acap