Masks
He's a man of the past and one of the present,A man who hides behind a mask behind a mask;A clown, a fool, believing it cool to be downOr that the game is all about who laughs the last.So he tells all his problems to his friends and relations,Exposes his neuroses to their view.They accept as fact every masochistic mumble of his act--How could they know what was false and what was true?Sometimes when he wakesHe feels he's walked into a dreamBut all it takesTo remind him things are what they seemIs the belief that the man behind the mask can really dancePirouetting smileHe sees himself cavorting,Pierrot for a whileBefore abortingTo find relief in the shelter of the dark, most telling mask.After all the pantomimes are endedHe peels all the make-up off his faceTo reveal, beneath, the tears running all down his cheeks:Alone, he opens to the world...but it's much too late.He's been left, in the end, without a face.