Do they know us well?The us that is hidden. 

The fear that cannot be spoken. 

The loneliness that numbs. 
Oh We cover it well,

so well with our flashes of facade and whitewash. 

So what If I’m an object.

A trademark.

Some cliche that you think is special. 
Who knows the true meaning of the exchange of meaningless games between the fist bumps and the deranged. 

You said I don’t smoke cigarettes because I should be smoking cigars. 

Does it really matter how I choose my smoke mirrors or games?

Do you like to play. 
I’m on a carousel for the insane

And I’m spinning in circles and looking the same 

Because they like what they paid for 

The pretty face, lovely name

We have chosen to be a choice 

Who’s to say what matters 

What we want is all the same. 



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