The new trend is misery
The new look, reeks of despair...
The life-size Barbie doll
Her hair, now inky black
She shares her pain
Yes, she tells her story.
In all her madness
In all her ridiculous
Beautiful
Mad, fucked-up glory!
And, the people believe it.
They buy it, rather quick
Her mystique becomes the major seller
She is their topmost pick!
They, scream: "screw 'em all! "
"Hell, screw the rest! "
And, they buy her a dollhouse
In a neighborhood for the best.
Sunset Boulevard—
The best of the worst
And, they wrap her in satin
And, they rent her a Hearse.
Premature death, for this Queen
In such an arduous, persistent pain—
They knew just what they were doing;
They mastered this whole game!
They sold their souls
They did it, in vain
They peaked and heightened
Because, they'd paid for their fame!
They walked the streets
As we screamed their names!
They had taken all—
In the illuminati game!
And, now bored with their own lives
They crave to feel her pain
They have nothing that is real
She has nothing but her fame!
Hang her face—
On your wall
All her pain
The teardrops, they fall...
"She is stylish!
She breathes hate! "—
They bid, and they shout!
They scream prices!
They debate!
"Those tears are worth one million! "
"That pain is worth ten more! "
"And, why, I'd pay anything that they were asking! —
to capture the pained look on the face of that whore! "
Eventually,
She'll be removed from the wall
And, her face will be shoved—
In some overstuffed closet, down the hall.
When she becomes aged news—
When her face, it becomes rather lame
When they seek a new victim and archetype—
Another lost soul to play their game!
© 2010-2017 Glamour Shot. Nicole D'Settēmi