Your shirt is stained when you wear your heart on your sleeve.
So you wash it off and pretend that it was never there.
Your face in the mirror doesn't give a reflection.
So you paint one on, it's the art of imitation.
It tickles you to death, knowing you can play the game so well.
But you can't ignore, don't know who you are, so what.
Your sugar coated, guns are loaded,
Afraid of tasting yourself.
So you keep lying, never trying,
Say your somebody else
The bitterness inside...
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