Beneath It All

Here walks a man Dressed to the nines Talking by hand With a mouth full of sighs Fingers in his pockets Grasping wads of lint Eyes rolling in their sockets Torn socks in shoes looking mint Trully impressive he is While he struts down the road Self-assured the strain of that smile of his Will stay hidden within the fold The truth this man Remains but a mystery His shiny facade a sham Yet it does its job implicitly