Yearning (In Two Voices)

Around the temple that is your body
the incense smolders.
While the priestess of Apollo
caresses your shoulders.

And the supplicant worships at the altar
of your thighs.
He gives you his thanks
with a gleam in his eyes.

But you stole the bishop’s cross
while his back was turned.
And laughed in his face
as his Holy book burned.

But who ever said that I kneel
at you feet.
And enter your body
while the sacred drums beat.

I won’t have you halfway
if I can’t have you whole.
‘Cause it’s common knowledge
who’s holding your soul.

But even some solitary monk
enshrined in his cell,
isn’t exempt from such
exquisite hell.
That comes from the yearning to make love to you.
That comes from the yearning to make love to you.

(Cassandra’s Chorus)
Then off with the veils that hid the fresh young bride.
Whose blood runs red like evening’s tide.
Oh no!… The lord of your bed, you bathe him, lick his hand, you accursed bitch!…Fawn on him, his body glistens. (Scream) Hand over hand shoots out hauling ropes…Then lunge some net flung out of hell…And SHE is the snare…The bedmate, the deathmate, murder’s strong right arm. LOOK OUT,LOOK OUT!…Drag the great bull from his mate…A Thrash of robes, she traps him writhing. Black horn glints, twists…She gores him through! He buckles, look, the bath swirls red… There’s stealth and murder in the cauldron…Do you hear?

That comes from the yearning to make love to you.

(In Greek mythology, Cassandra was a human woman who caught the eye of Apollo. He gifted her with the power of prophecy. Cassandra, however, rejected his favors. Apollo in anger then cursed her by making her prophecies, though still true, unintelligible to those who would hear them.)