Beyond a fetish for hedonism and smile that bedevils the unwise
There's nothing behind your winsome looks, no glint behind the eyes
Your association with the subculture that makes you feel punk rock
Is nothing more than a need to feel the touch you've kept on lock
And though your body craves the spotlight even more so than your mind
The fire that led you to your present has burned out all there was inside
You love the way they look at you, how eyes rove about your skin
You clamor for the center stage, despite your glamor wearing thin
And when all the clutching hands finally close upon your waist and legs
There will be nothing left for you to revel in, you opened for their begs
The permanence of colors and the drugs that make you feel
Will ruin what comes afterwards, when you're forced to live the real
Your disdain for your future has not spurred you to be great
Because you realize how you're drifting towards that which you longed to hate
And I rhyme for you in couplets, because that's how your mind has always worked
With feeble grasps at beauty, moments fated to forever lurk
Within the mind just at the edge, but after too short a moment passes
Your center stage was nothing, just an exhibit for the masses
The inner beauty that made you gorgeous, discarded for highs on pyrite
Has been eaten by the angry mob that thinks your dignity is their right
When you're burned out and tired, when you have nothing left to give
Do you think you'll be afforded any honors? No, just memories to relive
The affluent promise of sensuality that flows beneath your skin
Means nothing when it's tossed away, much to your chagrin
You saw a picture when you were younger, and decided it was your aim
And sacrificed everything to reach it, even heart and mind and name
If you find the value of your gains to be worth the price of entry,
Then I pity your remainders, when you find life to be but empty
But with a body built for enduring and a wanton lust for glory
You slithered your way into the arena, fame as your petty quarry
The harsh red of an exit sign falls tragically on your back
Stepping further to the center, those who knew you taken aback
You're the perfect spitting image of that picture that you saw
Your images use the airbrush too, it hides so many flaws
I could find a hundred dozen of you towards the rear of any magazine
You lost the beauty in your heart, you donated it to the scene
