She gets up in the morning and puts on her face.
Her make-up must be perfect, her smile firmly in place.
Daily she wears a costume, an elaborate disguise,
And the person that she is, she completely hides.
Outwardly, she looks happy, competent and content,
She seems to hae it all together, she appears confident.
Little does the public guess, little do they know,
That what they think they see, is all a sham, a show.
For the happy make-up and the careful disguise,
Conceal a heart of pain, fear, and grief deep inside.
Daily she performs an act for those around.
The spotlight's always on her, pressures do abound.
Even when at home, the act still must go on,
And the person she is inside, soon may be gone.
Poor, pathetic clown, working so hard to please,
To serve and entertain, oh, what deception she weaves.
She longs to be herself and not live behind a mask,
But, no one cares who she is, they never even ask.
They believe the illusion that all is happy and well.
No one really wants to hear the stories she could tell.
They can't handle her pain, don't want to know the facts.
The show must go on! She must continue her act.
Daily she dons her make-up and her elaborate disguise,
She paints on a happy smile and . . .
Inside,
She cries.
