They walk the pavement with painted smiles,
Stretching their secrets for miles and miles.
A carnival of faces in the neon light,
Hiding the scars that ache in the night.
The businessman wears a suit of cold stone,
To hide the fact that he's deeply alone.
The dancer grins while her tired feet bleed,
Planting the garden but hiding the seed.
Behind every gaze is a bolted steel door,
Protecting a spirit that's weary and sore.
We speak in riddles and laugh in a play,
Keeping our truest selves safely away.
Is there a face beneath the velvet disguise?
Or just the reflection of hollow, grey eyes?
The city is crowded, yet voices are thin,
Wrapped in the armor of porcelain skin.
If I dropped my mask on the cold, hard floor,
Would you recognize me anymore?
In this masquerade, we are lost and found,
Walking on beautiful, treacherous ground.