"Yes," he tells you "I can hide your pain"
As he points to a door
And the stars fall from the sky
Royal blue streams in their wake

"But I have this great unhappiness;
they say there is no cure" you reply
As he opens one door and closes another

"Perhaps sweet darling, perhaps
But the pain does not seek to cure;
It seeks to live" he explains
As he presses you to your knees

And darkness begins to flow from his eyes,
As dry leather tightens around joints and throat

And he opens his mouth so wide,
He swallows your voice

And he fills you so deep,
He steals your emptiness

Hot, red streaks appear upon your back and your breasts,
Replacing your doubts and questions

"Are you the healer of great sorrow?"
You ask with the arching of your back

"Yes, but not for thee"