I am speaking to your Face,
And not the Shell without encased;
I am here and will perceive
For you, and all your Tragedies,
Your Comedies, and that core you hide,
And now, in you, I shall abide.


A Mask upon every face,
This shell of wasted, shielding plate;
You see my mask, as I see yours;
You little Wastelanders, and I, of course,
Wear a mask of sticky tape,
Though you may wear silver plate,
Or tanned leather to hide as God
That which righteous claims find odd;
To go and see the other side,
And now, in me, you can abide.


Turn and face me, if you desire;
I wield not a sword, nor cleansing fire,
But merely wish to Catalog
The Mind, the Mask, and all their cogs.


So now I give you Freedom’s space,
And so I am speaking to your face.