You call it your burden. You draw attention to your plight.
You whine and you moan, but make sure you're in sight.
When the pale horse comes
When the death rattle hums
There'll be none of you left, and to me that would be all right.
It was all just a show. You wore the costume of the clown.
You prayed they wouldn't find out. That your facade wasn't torn down.
It would crush your pathetic life,
but maybe what you need is a little strife.
Something to bring you back down to earth, and smash your porcelain mask upon the ground!