The Mask



And then people wonder why,
I don't have the heart to cry.
Can it be such a task,
Really too much to ask?
That I lower The Mask.

You see they don't understand,
That if I lower my hand.
Every thing they hold dear,
It isn't under here.
It's all in The Mask.

What is under here is dead,
Decaying inside my head.
A rotting corpse of crumbling bones,
My personality is on loan.
From The Mask.

The Mask,
Is my protector.
The Mask,
Is my gaoler.

The Mask,
Holds me in it's eternal clasp.
Forever and Gone.

Inside and behind,
I am The Mask.

And The Mask, is, me.