Goody Two Shoes

He's so much trouble
Those rigid sorts
He'll kill you with
His pious thoughts

His crisp shirts
And his studious demeanour
You hate everything about
His spotless exterior

You want to destroy
His illustrious path
You want to laugh at him
And incur his wrath

But you don't know
What he does at night
Alone with his needles,
His knives and his plight

You don't know what the sleeves hide
You don't know what the poker face hides
You don't know what the textbook hides
You don't know what he openly hides