What ails you, O heart, so naive?
What is the cure for this ache that I grieve?
We hope for devotion from a love so untrue,
Who knows not the meaning of vows we imbue.
What ails you, O heart, so naive?
What ails you, O heart, so naive?
What is the cure for this ache that I grieve?
What ails you, O heart, so naive?
We are consumed, they are distant and cold,
We are consumed, their story untold,
O God, what is this strange plight that we see?
What ails you, O heart, so naive?
When none exists save the space that you fill,
When none exists, the spirit stands still,
Then what is this tumult, this chaos, this plea?
What ails you, O heart, so naive?
My soul I surrender, I give it to thee,
My soul I surrender, wild and free,
I know not the prayer, but I offer its key.
What ails you, O heart, so naive?
What ails you, O heart, so naive?
What is the cure for this ache that I grieve?
What ails you, O heart, so naive?
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