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Looking Up To Heaven Through a Papier Maché Mask
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You grasp at a single hope, maybe it's the answer.
Can't be worse than the papier maché mask you wear
that you made from bits and pieces of what you see and hear.
you take the plunge, hock your life, the price is dear.
A year to pretend what should have been really is, (A lie?)
then weeks of pain, and years more of "is this you?" (A lie?)
A woman with a paper on the wall says it's you, it is!
But will you believe? The years past - maybe that was you.
People on the screen tell you she's right. But can you believe it?
But what do they know? How could they know? How it is for you.
Happiness dangled before you, you say it's a lie. Madness isn't it?
Deny your papier maché years - can you? Can you?
So many questions, but web-ghosts say the answer's obvious.
Maybe for others looking in, maybe it's obvious.
But what about me - someone on the inside looking out.
Should I believe, Should I listen? I'm scared. Can I? Please.