There’s a face you’re used to seeing
And I’m not sure that it’s mine;
My own is always fleeting
And you don’t catch it quite in time.
You only see what I am showing —
But you never seem to mind,
Or see what I most fear you knowing,
Or what I most wish for you to find.
Instead you shout for a beginning…
But for me the show is always on;
And as the act begins you think you’re winning
But if you looked, you’d find the actor gone.