They begged to see me laugh again,
but I was dying on the inside
painted smile and heavy hands.
I was the clown that cried. ()
They call me joy. They call me light.
A walking joke. A harmless fool.
But I was swallowing every fight.
While dancing barefoot like a mule,
the spotlight burned like judgment day.
It never missed a tear I hid. ()
They begged to see me laugh ()
But none of them ever tried to look beyond the painted face