I see their manufactured smiles Yet rivers flow under ice cold exteriors, I want to carve them a hole And bring their lives to the surface. They are trapped like boxed Russian dolls Layers over layers of painted expressions Glossing over the truth Which is a soul-less darkness. They wear their pin striped polyester suits like skin Respectability covering truth Born from the callused hands of Taiwanese children. From sweatshop to boutique, What we buy is not what we sell. Today I dressed myself in rain Watching the blind find their way again To the tube station, Full of sardines brined from the stress of a missed deadline. I thought to myself I will free myself By wanting to be myself And these are my first steps To be worth remembering.