("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 assumed 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