"White Gloves Bloodied on a Filthy Face"

#0064. So many faces. Too many faces. The Clown. The Jester. The Entertainer. The Philosopher. The Puppeteer. Who made Melancholy be all of these things? He tumbles into view. His perpetual grin is mortifying. Lift up your countenance upon him. He came to the Funeral. He chased down the violator. In the midst of gravestones and obelisks, the white gloved fists of Melancholy broke apart the face of the violator like a rotten egg. His friendship is frightening, but not unwelcome.