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
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