I once dreamt of a man that lived my life
who's face I did not know.

Each night a new scene, a new face,
all disguised for simple show.

They say that life is a stage,
and we all must play our part.

But they role that I have been given
never suited from the start.

We wear our mask for ages,
forgetting the person that lies inside.

Slowly but surely learning,
the writers have all but lied.

Their scripts are written in blood,
in pain, in death and countless lies.

Tricking the world into loving,
their beauty of disguise.

But this cycle will one day end,
be it by change or by demise.

For of this I am certain,
I am finished with my disguise.

Finished with the mask, the lies
the masqueraded death.

I see you for what you are,
even when you hide your best.

Your script is ending, as mine begins
and for now time will show what's true.

For I now walk a path of broken masks,
following the  steps of a hated few.

For now the script is open,
and only the stars could number my paths.

But one thing is for certain,
I am finished wearing mask.