Paint on a genuine smile, rehearsed Drilled... Day to day, for days on end 'Til every day is déjà vu And facial contortions are no longer An expression of the inner soul But a plastered-on artistic endeavor Summoned at will.
In solitude the actor peals off his make-up And stares in the mirror at Cold, Harsh Reality Not “genuine” at all And he realizes He has become accustomed to his Costume.
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