To love is more an art than act, more farce that fact
One could sooner paint the wind or bottle the sea
For love is blind and unrefined and we never know just whom we may attract

By and by, we close our hearts, defenses we enact
We hear the worst from pains rehearsed, and think we know the key
To love is more an art than act, more farce than fact

Some scarcely knew this feeling that others fully lacked
Perhaps their torment is all there is to see
For love is blind and unrefined, and we never know just whom we may attract

But like fear or death, or fear of death and all things inexact
We face it even knowing to some degree
To love is more an art than act, more farce than fact

Perhaps it is an illness, a disease we must contract
And immunity and impunity seems not to be
For love is blind and unrefined, and we never know just whom we may attract

But weary few have entered and left with heart intact
Yet even still I’m sure they would agree
To love is more an art than act, more farce than fact
For love is blind and unrefined, and we never know just whom we may attract