Dirt on the flowers

Smudges on the mirror

Scars on a face

Not all as they appear

 

Some turn and run

Others point and jeer

For what's on the outside

Is all there is to cheer

 

Ignorance and pride

Beauty and lust

Easy to understand

And to claim as just

 

Until they look at themselves

In the publics glorified mirror

And see with their own eyes

Exactly what they fear

 

To see their is nothing special

About the faces they keep in jars

Maybe then they'll understand

Everyone has their own scars