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How many parts can one man play
On this living stage of ours?
How many costumes for one day?
How many lines rehersed for hours?
How many lives can one man lead
Before schitzophrenia sells him out?
How many scents does a woman need
Before sinuses do scream and shout?
So many faces grin and play,
An eternal masquerade ball,
How many men can truly say,
They know any real folks at all?
Who are we? And who can tell?
We learn to wear our masks so well.
It's not easy having a good time. Even smiling makes my face ache.- Frank N. Furter.