A 
The empty Slate we know and love
The empty Slate we know and love
Is just a needless Lie—
The Things that make us who we are
Will stay until we die
They come and open many Doors—
Left only for the fair
The rest become a living Clone
The ones who don’t are rare
The odd who try to change their Fates
Are met with loud Dissent—
Their Money and their Time are lost
To waste on clear Deceit
Too blinded by the Imagery—
Of Fame and jealous Looks
The only way to stop this Mess
To look— to see, unmask