He is Tamoso
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He is eccentric. Some moments he rejoices, and in some he shrinks into melancholy. Often he is gloomy, often he is cheerful. He does not belong to the earth. From Aztec he has come, still he recounts the aromas he left behind, in his ancient city, and the sculptures he curved on, of bronze they were made, millenniums ago.`
Beware who is to observe his marvels, as frosts they look like. He is accused of offering no pleasures to anyone. Your nerves will tremble to see his solitude. So gray it is. So wasteful it is. So mournful it is.