I see the mask you're trying to pass on as your true face,
I can see the cracks where your mouth has frowned,
and the color that's fading from your painted on guise.
I see the darkness in your eyes and the bitterness in your voice,
the age in your hands from your sorrowed remorse,
and the place in your heart where trust should be,
but deep down you know its clouded with jealousy.
Can this feeling keep you awake at night?
You can take it off in the middle of the night,
I can see the dust from your porcelain mask,
forming into piles of lies around your nightstand,
with a bottle of jack in your hand,
it is wearing thinner and thinner,
can you keep forcing it to stay with glue that's tainted with forced love?
I can see this rope of invisibility you're using to keep faith,
one that's slowly unraveling and you're trying to save face.
One reason may not be enough to keep writing a story that has been done,
and in the ending of this façade,
you will figure out you were the one who was robbed.
Is your unhappiness the one that's seeping from the cracks?
Is that the sole reason you can't keep track?
I see the mask you're wearing where everyone is pretending to believe it is your true self,
but I know the pain and sorrow you can't reveal,
so you're stuffing it in a bottle and hiding it on a shelf.
When you figure out that your happiness is better than a mask for everyone to believe,
you honey,
you're the one whose fooling yourself more than anybody.