I homeless sought you under the moonlight in the woods   as you comb thy black hair in the heart of moon   ah they thieved the jeroboam of thy love's wine from me   until I never swig the sweet poison from your hands   ah I can't dirge the myth of thy love   because the words die by imagine your visage   ah thy love's grief had blackened me   and I'll never take the light like thy moon's heart   (until you comb thy black hair in my heart)