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("No! this face is only a mask, a wicked ornament,illuminated by an exquisite grimace,Look and see, atrociously contorted,The real head, and the sincere faceTurned back under the shadow of the face which lies"Charles Baudelaire)He is profanity in sanctity's guiseAn alias assumed I do realizeIn their eyes, his cause -when enticing and cunning in impactis still a criminal and evil actSo look for him vainly,He, the incarnation of magickal natureHe turns unrecognizable even to the experienced eyeYou obsessively pursue himFailing to see, hat was why he came to beone who annihilates with such impunityHe appears your friend, butthe Saint hides many SatansHe's contemptuous, you knowof your Godgiven stupiditiesHe calls you in question withaffected modesty and createof you an object of derisionYou think him to be pariahwhom company does excludeBut in the midst of all frenzyHe is - feasting in a transitory moodPassion is a strict lordHe is also its humble slaveWhen bereft of common ways,He strides before you on waterHe makes clowns of kings,charm the guests, rides the ballIs the master of disguisePrince of the thousandfold facethe charming jester's smilewhich invites reason to demiseand imaginations riseInscrutable yes, venting his spleenSomewhere night and day betweenIs the master of disguise
("No! this face is only a mask, a wicked ornament,illuminated by an exquisite grimace,Look and see, atrociously contorted,The real head, and the sincere faceTurned back under the shadow of the face which lies"Charles Baudelaire)He is profanity in sanctity's guiseAn alias assumed I do realizeIn their eyes, his cause -when enticing and cunning in impactis still a criminal and evil actSo look for him vainly,He, the incarnation of magickal natureHe turns unrecognizable even to the experienced eyeYou obsessively pursue himFailing to see, hat was why he came to beone who annihilates with such impunityHe appears your friend, butthe Saint hides many SatansHe's contemptuous, you knowof your Godgiven stupiditiesHe calls you in question withaffected modesty and createof you an object of derisionYou think him to be pariahwhom company does excludeBut in the midst of all frenzyHe is - feasting in a transitory moodPassion is a strict lordHe is also its humble slaveWhen bereft of common ways,He strides before you on waterHe makes clowns of kings,charm the guests, rides the ballIs the master of disguisePrince of the thousandfold facethe charming jester's smilewhich invites reason to demiseand imaginations riseInscrutable yes, venting his spleenSomewhere night and day betweenIs the master of disguise