("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 face
Turned back under the shadow of the face which lies"
Charles Baudelaire)


He is profanity in sanctity's guise
An alias $$#umed I do realize

In their eyes, his cause -
when enticing and cunning in impact
is still a criminal and evil act


So look for him vainly,
He, the incarnation of magickal nature

He turns unrecognizable even to the experienced eye

You obsessively pursue him

Failing to see, hat was why he came to be
one who annihilates with such impunity


He appears your friend, but
the Saint hides many Satans
He's contemptuous, you know

of your Godgiven stupidities
He calls you in question with
affected modesty and create

of you an object of derision

You think him to be pariah

whom company does exclude
But in the midst of all frenzy
He is - feasting in a transitory mood


Passion is a strict lord
He is also its humble slave

When bereft of common ways,
He strides before you on water
He makes clowns of kings,

charm the guests, rides the ball
Is the master of disguise


Prince of the thousandfold face
the charming jester's smile
which invites reason to demise

and imaginations rise
Inscrutable yes, venting his spleen
Somewhere night and day between

Is the master of disguise