The lying mask in perpetual pretence,

with many more layers of painted reference.

The mask that everybody loves as genuine in a blast,

and the dreadful breath from the face of the foe as he passed.

The eyes of the manipulator with laughter so chill,

with hearts which grow by creed so still.

The great gesture so loud in all this pride,

claiming all the hypocrisy ever so wide.

From within the subtle shadow of the weak,

the more attention they need to seek.

The domes of pleasure are the lays of the beast,

taking the romantic charm with every feast.

The mask wailing for the demon lover,

then every attraction needs a cover.

A savage place, holy and enchanted,

moral justified brothels where dancers get slanted.

Consequences by mingled measure,

far beyond the secret treasure.

When the tumult of a poisoned life ocean,

and the hunger has to deal with no motion.

The fear of being mask less and actually free,

observed by children, where love motions ‘are’ to be.