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I stitched my flesh in a chapel tomb

Each smile I give is a relic doom

Each step is a right of a saintless gloom

Where sorrow walks I stich my grief in thread

A smile carved to grace the dance of the living dead

I bow while silence screams exhaled in dread

The crowd adores the mask of gilded skin

Beyond their view my truth is held within

They cheer the mask with mask with the pseudo grin