Unrefined columns of human stance, Tragedy & drama within a glace, Enough attempted spice and glamour, They all dress in personal rare grammar.
Composition of each tilted soul, Somehow tends to make another whole, Like the meaning of each prediction made, Becomes their daily flimsy masquerade.
A piece of finale, a piece of remorse, Imitation becomes their driving force, Some yielding multiple divisions of love, Yet some with a silent aloofness thereof.
Some are performers with a curtain up, All dressed and made up for a close-up, Then there are those that pretend to be shy, You’d wonder if anything escapes their wiry eye.
But let’s not forget the specimen that’s fair, That touches upon each heart with care, Pretensions are not within any scene, Souls feel complete and eloquently serene,
Nevertheless, selfishness of human creed, Has vigor and boldness within its breed, Where peculiar manners and discourse, Could be a true blessing and not a curse.
Fragmented paragraphs of human decree, How passionately they all tend to disagree, About the laws made by Nature and self, What a fine masquerade life is in itself.
Venture trough life with passionate chaos!