We hide behind a mask of lies

To keep the truth from waving "hello" and "goodbye"

But have you ever cried through blood shot eyes?

Hit after hit, on that emotional high

Have your lungs ever hurt so bad,

That each new breath taken was more horse than the last

While the harsh words give you whiplash

But you don't have physical wounds to prove,

All that you have been through

Blood shot eyes, bright blue

No air in your lungs, so you turn black and blue

And eventually the lies become the truth

Because you start to believe what they say and what it means

So it must be true if everyone is saying it

And I'm just praying that all this will be through

So I can get through tonight and live for tomorrow

Without my heart turning hollow

And I hide behind this mask of lies

So I don't have face what really lies on the outside

Reality is laced with cold embraces

And people who sport two, three, even four faces

Judgment based on our skin color and races

I hide so I can survive

But hints of the truth are provided through past actions and accusations

I hide because I am not who I seem to be

I am nothing like you,

And you are nothing like me

I do this to cope with an uncertain hope

That may or may not make its way to the mother land

Instead to some other land

Where my mind cannot exist

It ceases to be, and yes it seems to be

That I am nothing more than what a stack of hundreds is to the poor

And food bank meals

Stealing from the corner store

Nothing in our stomachs

The pain hurts to our cores

And moms main mission ain't to be in the kitchen

Or work two jobs to support her four kids

Nah she would rather live life to its fullest

Even when the look in her children's eyes shows the dullest

And daddy said he would be there if mama could cut her coke addiction

Her addiction to Vicodin prescriptions

But she can't, cause she's been hooked ever since Maloney was born

And coke was laced with Keisha,

Right after Malia was born

And her soul was sworn to the devil

And trust me when I say each of her faces ,

Have been too all seven of Hell's levels

But isn't that the pot calling the kettle black

Her faces provide no sort of truth

Instead a ruthless reality without a light at the end of the tunnel

Because for every stumble and tumble

A scar is added to her face

It's now a distorted figure that is far more fake than it is real