The inner feeling
In which they are hidden
There’s no power of healing
The things that are forbidden

A little, tiny, very small
Peeking through the wall
Short, not very tall
The most whimsical of us all

Power we cannot see
The ghastly things are up for a walk
The prisoners are we
Suddenly we’re not able to talk

A dried fiend,
A false end,
At least it can make us understand

All the faces we won’t see
All the places in which we cannot be
For all, we can’t make ourselves free