They say Fake it until you make it Yet, I'm no savior For that my conscious knows The world is unjust, That my words are Sugarcoated with words. Everyone postulates pretensiously Not knowing the vicissitudes, They hurt to see you bleed outside For they are anemic, inferior, They bleed your blood. They say Fake it until you make it Today I am who you perceive; Painted faces occupied with me.