Tired of the Masquerade

The kitchen clock is ticking like a time bomb on the wall. You're talking about

the weekend, I'm staring down the hall. I nod my head and sip

the cup. I play the part just fine. Master of the masquerade walking on

the line. It's a fragile kind of peace we keep. A house made

out of glass. And I'm the only one who knows that this is gonna pass.

So how do you tell someone it's over? How do you look them in

the eye and say you don't care? I'm done with the lying.

I'm done with the trying to save a little stress from a whole lot of