The jeweler 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
He 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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