That place with padded walls a
With a soul dripping in envious green
Eyes that smolder charcoal black, burning hate
Does she have a tender side no one's seen?
Are there sunny things to which she'll relate?
Her exterior is plastic and cheap
Her clothes are designed to gain a few friends
She is always dating many a creep
For attention, she lies and pretends
She'll slice up her wrists and shed a few tears
She suffers in a little rich girl's life
She's just like her mother, thrives on the fears
Of the victim in which she causes strife
Her selfish, self-pitying role does the trick
She's drowning in blood, buried in lipstick
Thinking is just what a great many people think they are doing when they are merely rearranging their predjudices.