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Painted faces of perfect shining smiles,
venetian masks of skin.
They say the ones who believe in love aren’t afraid to sin. 
That they don’t fear falling but nor do they heed the warnings,
and blindly walk into lion dens to never awaken in the mornings.
Eyes clouded with the haze of dreams
a mirage so great it can make the wicked gleam.
For I speak of the fools who lead with their hearts,
only to be called a joker.
To a king or queen, how little they mean 
waging lives like a game of poker.

Those painted faces mock the rest,
who prefer to stay away.
They say the ones who hide from the sun are slaves to the day.
That they don’t fear being alone but nor do they want to be alike
Outcast from the court, they plan to strike.
Minds strayed from the path, they don’t fit in,
so lost in their heads, who will win?
For I speak of the freaks who define strength as difference,
only to be called scum
To the kings and queens, they are sores when seen,
treated like a sliver in their thumb. 

But Fools and Freaks in a world of rigid royalty unrests their painted faces,
beneath the cracks it can be seen, their humanity in its final traces.

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