Chicken chaser

My face stitched to my mask, taking another swig of my poisonous flask. Whose to say we are what we make of ourselves, to say that were any better then books left on their shelves. Oh yes human beings are like quarters with two faces, masking to different people in different places. Where we shroud ourselves with cloaks of lies, So another part of us soon dies. But who are we to explain, when our fellow man wants to hide the pain. Doesn't make you strong, just makes the pain worse and long. We sow our mouths to the concrete, just begging to see the world like the chicken crosses the street. But we'll never go far, because we all know the chicken is dumb enough to be run over by the car.