I know how it is to be judged by those whom I am not familiar
The skin of my soul leaves the story untold and too many it bewilders
To fierce it frights as unknown nights where they see not the burning timbers
Yet I see through all baiting eyes true no matter the maskarade of demeanors.
I am that hooded man in the wooded sitting idle by the fire.
It isn’t quite clear that it’s safe to come near, for I might make you a liar.
If this is your doubt then don’t give a shout, of foolish fear I quickly tire.
Best to walk on, for I rather you gone and all those who shun the mirror.
