The rules we make for ourselves
The crusades we ride out for
The people we hurt for
The weapons we arm ourselves with
The things the armor cannot deflect
The feelings our words cannot reflect
The stories we put down as myth
The wings we use to soar
The ones we think will never soar
The days they hate themselves
If I could explain the meaning behind
This paper and ink mask of mine
It would not be pretty anymore
The heartache would still be there
But it would be too wet and red
I will let it bleed through till I am dead
But without the veil it is not fair
It turns into a mess and a gore
But I have gone too far down the vine
So I return the mask to my heart and mind
