You try to erase all your troubles,
instead of standing to face them.
Only you can do what it is to be done,
if it were up to anyone,
well it would be the blind man,
on the side of the road,
lending out his hand to the empty find.
If you spun the bottle and just asked what to do,
well nobody would even tell you.
It's not that your a stranger or outsider,
but your sideshow is fun as hell,
and they want to know it better.
Now every morning,
you open your eyes, laying in your bed.
In that mixed thought heavy head you ponder,
just what the day will present,
and just who at the end you will resent,
and who will be the one to stand in pretend.
Your only friend, is an invisible shade,
and your voice is a Masquerade ball,
that only you have the invitation too.
And if anyone else got that ticket,
well then you would line up by the fence,
and bleed more than blood on the picket.