The jeweller has a shop on the corner of the boulevard
In the night, in small spectacles, he polishes old coins
He uses spit and cloth and ashes
He makes them shine with ashes
He knows the use of ashes
He worships God with ashes
The coins are often very old by the time they reach the jeweler
With his hands and ashes, he will try the best he can
He knows that he can only shine them, cannot repair the scratches
He knows that even new coins have scars, so he just smiles
H
e knows the use of ashes
He worships God with ashes
In the darkest of the night
Both his hands will blister badly
They will often open painfully and the blood flows from his hands
He works to take from black coin faces, the thumbprints from so many ages
He wishes he could cure the scars
When he forgets he sometimes cries
He knows the use of ashes
He worships God with ashes
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