You are a poet in a nation of shopkeepers
A prophet in seas of insanity
The head on a coin
A message, a sign
You are Nothing
Yet you are the messiah
You feel your blood flow like lava burns
The beast is consumed and the beast returns
The stock is a doctrine of vanities
Dancing into the hands of her enemies
You sit there a while scanning the miles
Free child of beauty and a caged reptile
In the mirror of an hourglass naked you stand
Your scars are hidden and safe in her hand-Nausher

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