| Song | The Masquerade |
| Artist | Pagan Altar |
| Album | The Lords of Hypocrisy |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| Think of the people you meet every day, | |
| Think of the characters they try to portray. | |
| They hide what they're thinking hide what they feel, | |
| In an age of hypocrisy nothing is real. | |
| Faces are just curtains of stone, | |
| That hides their true feelings 'till they're alone. | |
| Who can you say that you really know? | |
| You see only the façade they wish to show. | |
| Is it that they are weak or afraid? | |
| They live out their lives in this masquerade. | |
| They are all clowns behind a painted smile. | |
| They tried to enchant, persuade or beguile. | |
| Faceless with no thoughts or ideals, | |
| Transparent reflections, nothing is real. | |
| They cling to their idols echo their lives, | |
| But it's only a front, a place they can hide. | |
| Their own minds suppressed from birth to the grave, | |
| Enacting their lives in this masquerade. | |
| I look at myself am I the same, | |
| I try to find out if I play the game. | |
| Which side of my soul does everyone see? | |
| The face that I show is it really me? | |
| There's no way of knowing if I play a part, | |
| Is my true self left in the dark? | |
| Am I for real, or what I am made? | |
| Or am I just part of this masquerade? |
| Think of the people you meet every day, | |
| Think of the characters they try to portray. | |
| They hide what they' re thinking hide what they feel, | |
| In an age of hypocrisy nothing is real. | |
| Faces are just curtains of stone, | |
| That hides their true feelings ' till they' re alone. | |
| Who can you say that you really know? | |
| You see only the fa ade they wish to show. | |
| Is it that they are weak or afraid? | |
| They live out their lives in this masquerade. | |
| They are all clowns behind a painted smile. | |
| They tried to enchant, persuade or beguile. | |
| Faceless with no thoughts or ideals, | |
| Transparent reflections, nothing is real. | |
| They cling to their idols echo their lives, | |
| But it' s only a front, a place they can hide. | |
| Their own minds suppressed from birth to the grave, | |
| Enacting their lives in this masquerade. | |
| I look at myself am I the same, | |
| I try to find out if I play the game. | |
| Which side of my soul does everyone see? | |
| The face that I show is it really me? | |
| There' s no way of knowing if I play a part, | |
| Is my true self left in the dark? | |
| Am I for real, or what I am made? | |
| Or am I just part of this masquerade? |
| Think of the people you meet every day, | |
| Think of the characters they try to portray. | |
| They hide what they' re thinking hide what they feel, | |
| In an age of hypocrisy nothing is real. | |
| Faces are just curtains of stone, | |
| That hides their true feelings ' till they' re alone. | |
| Who can you say that you really know? | |
| You see only the fa ade they wish to show. | |
| Is it that they are weak or afraid? | |
| They live out their lives in this masquerade. | |
| They are all clowns behind a painted smile. | |
| They tried to enchant, persuade or beguile. | |
| Faceless with no thoughts or ideals, | |
| Transparent reflections, nothing is real. | |
| They cling to their idols echo their lives, | |
| But it' s only a front, a place they can hide. | |
| Their own minds suppressed from birth to the grave, | |
| Enacting their lives in this masquerade. | |
| I look at myself am I the same, | |
| I try to find out if I play the game. | |
| Which side of my soul does everyone see? | |
| The face that I show is it really me? | |
| There' s no way of knowing if I play a part, | |
| Is my true self left in the dark? | |
| Am I for real, or what I am made? | |
| Or am I just part of this masquerade? |