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