The Polaroid of perfection, demirep and stained with hate
Well wounded I stuttle the crowd with my vogue lack of faith
The up and coming vendetta, the # vultures' extremes
Spruce me up with a sweet little plaything, spruce me fucking supreme
I raise my craving hands, to the image of her promised land
The succulent teenage cunt, tempteth me to exeunt
Wish me well, wish me hell all I ever wanted was a story to tell
The absence of goals, the lack of control
The absence of aim and the present fame
The absence of goals, the lack of control
Everyone knows I should be extolled
The absence of aim and the present fame
Everyone would sell their souls to play this game
it's the game we play