to kill this
05/04/06, 02:24 PM
he's convinced you to take off all your clothes
and to the rhythm of the blinding lights
you strike pose after pose
the strangers point their microphones
in hopes to open your lips,
that famous mouth
that's hugged it's tongue around so many dicks.
"I know what sells", they're told.
but don't you know, it's you, you've sold?
and your dream,
was to grace the face of every magazine.
But you wear only the things,
you were taught to never show
the hidden sin, that lies underneath your clothes.
and now you're as fake as your smile and your tits
you change your chuckle to a giggle
and squeeze on shirts that never fit.
you don't even know whose pillow
your head will hit tonight,
you don't even know just how
you'll manage to turn out the lights,
and lie in the arms of a stranger.
you're worn down and worn out
and you've spent all your heart
on nothing you're about
and the tears you shed
are nothing like when you wed,
those wide eyes of an innocent child
with the divorce final,
and the ring in the sink
you slip on another pair of lips
doll up your eyes, and you think, and you think...
and the interviews state that you're doing fairly well
but the truth is you're as hollow as a seashell.
A shimmer and sparkle to catch the eye,
But once you look, there's nothing inside.
and to the rhythm of the blinding lights
you strike pose after pose
the strangers point their microphones
in hopes to open your lips,
that famous mouth
that's hugged it's tongue around so many dicks.
"I know what sells", they're told.
but don't you know, it's you, you've sold?
and your dream,
was to grace the face of every magazine.
But you wear only the things,
you were taught to never show
the hidden sin, that lies underneath your clothes.
and now you're as fake as your smile and your tits
you change your chuckle to a giggle
and squeeze on shirts that never fit.
you don't even know whose pillow
your head will hit tonight,
you don't even know just how
you'll manage to turn out the lights,
and lie in the arms of a stranger.
you're worn down and worn out
and you've spent all your heart
on nothing you're about
and the tears you shed
are nothing like when you wed,
those wide eyes of an innocent child
with the divorce final,
and the ring in the sink
you slip on another pair of lips
doll up your eyes, and you think, and you think...
and the interviews state that you're doing fairly well
but the truth is you're as hollow as a seashell.
A shimmer and sparkle to catch the eye,
But once you look, there's nothing inside.