Six short lines carry a surprisingly big tension: the speaker's mind wants freedom, but the body seems to have lost touch with where it comes from. The title, "My Mask," hints at why. The speaker may be showing a face to the world that doesn't match what's going on inside, so the mind says one thing while the body, going through the motions, says another.
The feeling here is a quiet longing rather than anger. The speaker doesn't fight or complain; they "just keep on dreaming." That word "just" sounds both tired and stubborn. The ending is the most interesting part. "Always, / Sometimes, / Singing" contradicts itself, since something can't be both always and sometimes. That wobble feels honest, as if the speaker's hope comes and goes but never fully disappears. The mood is wistful and fragile, yet it closes on music, which suggests that even behind a mask, a voice is still alive.