There’s a monster in us all, a creature deep inside,
The most honest part of our expression; a face we try to hide.
And he abhors false sentiment; hates when we pretend
To be a man of selective virtue, deceptive to his friend.

And though we try to kill the real in us,
When we mask ourselves in cunning creativity,
The face of truth is one we cannot trust,
When it emancipates the tongue completely.

For we fear our own depth of honesty,
When words become candid and coarse,
When the mind finds its relief,
We marvel at the lips’ discourse.

So we speak our elegant lies,
And we agree to the undesired,
For if the creature of candor were set free,
Friends and foes alike would be the enemy.

And so we each have our own dreadful beast,
Whose presence we pretend does not exist,
We each have mouths eager for release,
And hearts which shun their own ugliness.