Behind My Mask

I'm the kind of guy,
Who shows up when he's not wanted,
And I'm the kind of guy,
Who hides when he's flaunted,

And I've put on me a mask,
To hide my true self,
And created an illusion,
Which all of you now know,

And I've let friends down so many times,
And acted it an accident,
And lied to them so many times,
That if there's a God, I'm damned,

And behind this yellow mask of virtue,
Lies a man who's opposite,
And in these polyester clothes,
Lies a cut-throat in disguise,

I'm the kind of guy,
Who will close his door to perverts,
Then look up things which are a bit obscene,
And I'm the kind of guy,
Who holds a blade to his own throat,
Because of his own lewd hypocrisy,

And I'm the type who shamefully,
Will call a girl a dirty name,
Then hope to god I'd get her into bed,
And whose many attempts on his own life,
Could be traced to this reason again,

And I'm the type whose hands are tainted,
So I'm the type who's never lost a bet,

And I've chattered on that sex is mating,
Not some stupid squabble over love,
Then turned on my heels right thereafter,
Had a few fun fantasies and such,

And I'm the guy who falls in love,
But refuses to believe in such a thing,
And I'm the type who tells himself,
That someone in my mind is just as good,

I'm the type who has scarred himself,
But not for stupid reasons like a broken pair of shoes,
But I'm the type who cannot change,
Even for someone I say I love,

I've writ a thousand poems,
As if I actually were a poet,
Not a coward with a mask,
Who won't even show his back,

But it helps to think that really,
I am this virtuous man,
Who is just a bit ill-tempered,
And going through a dusgusting phase,

And I actually believe my self,
When a commercial for a certain Trojan,
Comes upon my TV screen,
And it falls to the ground, broken.