tears webbed over shadow and flakes of stars eyes shut closed in the dark
—afraid of the hollow eyes of the midevil mask the clouds drape in the sky the typewriter types a sad sad song old boxes and treasures in the antique mall collect dust as unfeeling hallow eyes scan over forgotten gold the typewriter types the starry starry night the painter paints the starry starry night oh mascarade.. oh mascarade life is just a mascarade
—with a poker face as your shield and hope of the stars as gaurdians
the typewriter types the sad sad song the painter sighs beneath his mask
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