When the self is forced, and deforms the face
The ablaze gold mask shines bright and glimmers
And laughs! But the wretched face burns and fears
Buried by pain and made hidden and shamed
That when I wish to rise they crush and maim
Profane I, and force a metal I forged
Without my eyes, who descending downwards
Clawed by the scorching gold and left enchained
While loved by the world when apart from it
See all as grey and pale, deprived of truth
that I descend to Madness, Lurid Thing!
Away from the world, but my lost heart dreads,
Or its heart? And losing that hold on truth
must I see I, and what it means to be.
