| Fm | C# | |
| Well I stepped into an | avalanche, |
| Fm | D# | Fm | |
| It covered | up my | soul; |
| Fm | C# | |
| When I am not this | hunchback that you see, |
| Fm | D# | Fm | |
| I sleep ben | eath the | golden hill. |
| G# | C | |
| You who wish to | conquer pain, |
| Fm | C# | |
| You must | learn, learn to serve me | well. |
| You strike my side by accident |
| As you go down for your gold. |
| The cripple here that you clothe and feed |
| Is neither starved nor cold; |
| He does not ask for your company, |
| Not at the centre, the centre of the world. |
| When I am on a pedestal, |
| You did not raise me there. |
| Your laws do not compel me |
| To kneel grotesque and bare. |
| I myself am the pedestal |
| For this ugly hump at which you stare. |
| You who wish to conquer pain, |
| You must learn what makes me kind; |
| The crumbs of love that you offer me, |
| Theyre the crumbs Ive left behind. |
| Your pain is no credential here, |
| Its just the shadow, shadow of my wound. |
| I have begun to long for you, |
| I who have no greed; |
| I have begun to ask for you, |
| I who have no need. |
| You say youve gone away from me, |
| But I can feel you when you breathe. |
| Do not dress in those rags for me, |
| I know you are not poor; |
| You dont love me quite so fiercely now |
| When you know that you are not sure, |
| It is your turn, beloved, |
| It is your flesh that I wear. |