Some have tried to help me,
some have turned aside,
some have seen the truth,
that I have failed to hide
the burning fragrance of a flower,
and the smoke thereof have passed,
forever in a gothic urn,
made of darkly shaded glass.
So I walk the streets of loneliness,
no one knows my name,
Looking for an avenue,
where I can turn from pain.
Disguised, I'm someone different,
where a lie becomes a mask.
Nere more to see the truth,
behind this darkly shaded glass