Mine are the simpers layered,
over the envy of your triumphs.
Mine is the face of concern
of your pain, within, I rejoice.

These worldly tricks I learn,
mine is the face of calm.
Mine, within the anger burn,
the mask hides napalm.

Mine is the face of love,
masks of affection, delight.
Only greed under the skin,
within the mask, a fight.

Mine are none true faces,
I only mask the cruel, the vile.
Yet mine are all but one,
O, how I wreathe a smile.