Sometimes, I wear the face of a clown; I smile for you when you are feeling down. And yet, there are gaudy tears upon my face; daubed to show the failings of your race. Who see me smile, and all the while, I'm crying just to make your day less vile.

Sometimes, I wear the face of a priest, and give my aid to those who need me least. For men who truly need the help of prayer, are often lost so deeply in despair, that even though, you think you know, them really there was only deadness there.

Sometimes, I wear the face of God, and gaze down upon the paths that Angels trod, before they fell down burning to the ground, for there, rather than in paradise they found, that there within, despite the sin, were all the gifts the eager need to win.

And sometimes, I wear the face of a man, and walk in places Angels never can. I surpass the clown, for my tears are more than dye, and watch the priest's defeated fool-flock fly, away, on the wings of a God who will not last, and this, through all? It is my greatest mask.