So many words - they'll be gone in awhile.
In an ever-changing show of masks
parading by us single-file
we try to find ourselves, and ask:

Which one is me, and what is mine?
Of words we get and words we steal
and make our own through passing time,
which ones are false and which are real?

There is no more, and falling rain
washes the words we write away
leaving us with the blotted stains
of what we have said and what we will say

and the never ending hopeless task
of finding the pieces of our own mask