Walking through the town, lacking frown, how curious this man,
who many see yet he is transparent, unsolid.
His stare can stop a storm, bring wealth to those who wish.
This man has none, is none and never really was. He is.
To have nothing, to own the world, all in one glimpse of time, through a window thick as oak.
Doors to a place soon to be found, a scense of value in this empty room,
a place of dreams and desparations.
This man dwells in these walls, a glass house thick as oak.
So Fragile to know such things, to own the world.
A man of lacking face, of fluid grace.
Will this man not come and see, this carnival of life, this place so in need of light.
Who is this man?