TREACHEROUS HUMAN CLAY


Why, there’s a clown

And here’s a dwarf

Look, there’s the hero

And right here, the villain

Colours, black and white

Good or bad, none in between

But what of the gray

That true results, we wash away

If people tear their masks

Can we bear to look on

We respect deceit, and stamp on

Truth, for it seems pathetic

Futile and idiotic, truth

Demands much more, so

Why not don a mask

It can be grandeur outside

Plain contemptuous within

Or smiling and flattering

But venom writhes unseen

Yet the surface is pretty

A mask is all it takes

For madmen to become virtuous

And produce villains and heroes

No one sees into the reality

The worn out human clay

That darkens deep day by day

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