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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 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