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To a tattered-clothed monster, the city of lights looked so dim,
only stone-faced gargoyles never grimmaced at the sight of him,
everyday, with hideous cries of horror, voices rose and rang out,
it may have been his tears running down from the rainspout.
A human creature who can easily fit in with festivals of fools,
his grotesque, deformed face deemed unfit by society's rules,
while this toll reverberates within his ears, until torn apart,
a song, so beautiful, still plays from the depths of his heart.
People turn their gaze skyward to breathtaking cathedral towers,
where a lone, strong back peals the bells to pass by the hours,
a golden melody floats from the heavens to the town below,
his outward gentle nature only the gypsies and peasants know.
At night, he peacefully slumbers with a picturesque view of Paris,
for, in his dreams alone, no one could ever mock or embarrass,
wishes to dance, to taste the cuisine, in this sanctuary are hidden,
still he carries on a hope, a longing, for a freedom forbidden.