A man with a mask on his face

Does so to travel to a particular place

The past surrounds the journey he makes

As his feet move at a quick pace

His crimes bring him good times, better then how noble men dine on red wine

Whether or not fines, confine him, does not define or defile him

He'll take and make profit, from the pockets of those yelling "Stop It!"

The Illusions of his misuses, of weapons like knifes and pistols he uses

Till his dying day, while hes lying away, he will take and break, from all those with unfortunate fates