i lash myself when there's no one else around
guilt like a herd pounding on the gorge's ground
dug up a tombstone with a dynamite stick
blew up the flowers and did a magic trick
i could peel her cosmetics off like a layer of fur
she buys things she loves 'cause no one loves her
a cheese grater scraped her face, she didn't even bleed
a broken shield, crumbling, from a rose to a weed
judgment is a tidal wave with a strict protocol
we follow what is false, now its engraved in our skulls
deep distortion, an old religion, slithering into the Agenda
el carnicero escribió nuestras oraciones en su trastienda
the real ugliness is not in your wrinkles or your scars
but it may be in the twinkle in the eyes of the stars
for the envy it extracts and the delusions it does cause
morale goes deaf quickly, drowning in loud applause
approval from the masses has rarely been quite right
so, why do you feel pressure to be accepted in their light?
fashion got greedy, you're not yourself but you belong
to a Majority of Emptiness without loyalty or song
and still, no one swoons over the disfigured face of a boy
whose father beat him 'til there was nothing left to destroy
or the girl who was raped and therefore without purity
is she dirtier than you, watching celebrities in obscurity?
how will your clan recognize you if you mute your true tones
and water down the words humans crafted out of moans?
our brains took gibberish and made language out of clutter
and your main concern is your consumption of butter
so, bring me the disfigured boy and the girl who was violated
send me the broken, the hated, the sad and sedated
the fat and the ugly and the gassy pimple-popper
the disregarded, the unwanted and the delightfully improper
we'll start an army of truth; their products, we'll steal
weakness revealed when they lose the power to conceal
we can gather their perfumes and use it as fuel for flame
to burn their fancy shoes and their airbrushed shame
and think of all the resources we'll be able to save
when the demand for supply digs it's own grave
animal testing would end and silence the protestors
farmers would be kings, not slaves or mad jesters
the vain running to reclaim what they so desperately need
only to find their monstrosities unveiled as they plead
"we are our obsessions; give us back our possessions!"
but there will be nothing left to nourish their deceptions
just a big jumble of bodies, all bare and revealed
a mess of confusion in a dewy green field
beauty will then be judged by the way a soul glows
and the luminosity of justice will prevail and expose
as it were intended, we'd be barefoot and nude
no worries of being rejected, no reason to be rude
we'd see each other and realize we're birds of a feather
laughing around the fire, just us and the weather
© Copyright Miss Carly Marie 2008-2012
