The Dark Masks We Wear

The Dark Masks We Wear

Cover the tarnished, bittersweet music beneath.

This little puppet, this little marionette

Can hear the gears in her head.

They whisper in chimes, they shout in bells

Can’t you hear them?

Can’t you see the clockwork in her eyes?

A tick in her step, a tock in her pirouette

The percussive pulse of her heart

Like footsteps in an Oubliette

Her voice flutters like a gas flame

Pleading not to splutter out

Will you reveal your music to her?

Show her love, rich and smooth like amber?

Or will she rust, and fall apart

A music box ballerina

Abandoned in the rain

Music Box

 

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