Strife Arbiter

Oil slick waves atop a skull face/mask. A halo for a
grin claims sincerity purest, bad news scrolling across marquee slate
teeth like an aesthetic cliche. Smiling eyes like four hundred tongued
courtesies. And you're cataracted at a green light, hearing only the
feel-good headlines and ginger catch phrases heard three blocks down the
road. Flies to the prophet, bread to the spectator.