The teardrops run down, and fall off his nose;
He cries in dark corners, where nobody goes.
You can follow the tracks, from his eyes to his chin;
Years upon years, of letting them win.
His eyes tell a story, of anger and pain;
You think that he’s happy, but just look again.
The scars of his past, hidden under his clothes;
Are a roadmap to places, that nobody knows.
His smile is now painted, he’s a master of disguise;
And you can see it all, just look into his eyes.