For what are we but clowns.
just jolly good jesters,
Putting up an act through ups and downs,
through the fear that pesters...
Take the mask off and what is left inside,
left with our broodings looming like ghastly ghouls,
All that we do, all that we create to hide,
At the end of the day left looking like fools...
They laugh at me mother, perhaps I shall chuckle too,
For they have a mask on just like me,
What horrors we would see if we could see through,
None happy, none satisfied, none truly free,
They believe they will be rewarded with peace tomorrow,
they believe its all in their hands,
they let their own thoughts drown them into sorrow,
Running behind fame, style and brand.
He who makes all laugh has cried within countless tears,
Only characters respected here, real faces discordantly discarded,
He who pushes all to be strong has trembled through boundless fears,
Roaming the world these clowns, with maps uncharted...
For what they do, do they do for their own,
Or perhaps they fancy a mere audience,
Turning pages to find those torn,
Looking in dark places, hoping to find radiance...
Malice under the pretense of humanity,
The ignorant who knows why they boast,
Over matters trivial losing their sanity,
But the best part is, those who tried to roam without a mask were laughed at the most...
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