My time has come

You put it on, you fake it,

You show everyone the face, you made it.

The mouth, the nose, the complexion.

They do what they’re told to but your eyes,

Your eyes, they deceive you.



The so-called gateway to your soul is left open,

They go through your brain,

Your heart and your very own

Dark soul, you kept hidden.



The music flows through your veins,

Flows through like the blue blood,

Artificial, just like your face,

The bloody grin like an eternal maze.



Everything pretty, so beautiful,

Covering the truth like the roses,

The beautiful roses hiding,

The thorns of reality from the masses.



The mask falls when the reaper presents,

his true form of bloodied reality,

As the end approaches.

He smiles, the god of death,

Watching those masks slipping,

Revealing their true sloppy miserable selves,

As he takes them on his eternal ride,

The ride of the dead.