I agree, we can burn in our lies, like metaphorical cigarettes. We can lay awake, remembering, those that won't forget. Song birds playing, a hymn while we feel rotten. Everyone can see all these holes we haven't spotten. "To be perfect!" Flowing through my feet. Feeling and chasing that temptation, as if I had a choice. "At last, I've got you! " I say while looking down. To late for me to realize, that we are all just clowns.