so be it, i'm your crowbar
it's very hard having a conversation with you
(that is, talking face to face)
because your head is actually so far up your own arse
that youve lost all contact with the real world
you live in a snowglobe fantasy land
where you are the starlet and the whole world falls at your feet
you are the ballerina in the music box
but i can't seem to close your freakin' lid
so i just keep hearing the tinkling of your conversation
and the repetitively dulcet tones of you telling us all
(for the 3rd time)
about how much they love you back home
and about how they're all clamouring for you to come back
and about all the cards they send you after every show,
telling you how you light up the stage.
it was ok enough for the first few weeks
i rather enjoyed teetering at the edge of your spotlight
unsure of whether i wanted the attention too or whether i wanted to heap it upon you
but after awhile it just got tiresome
my hands were sore from applauding too hard
my throat hoarse from singing your praises
and my ears ringing from the hum of the ever-grateful crowd
enough already:
the show is over
the curtain has come down
backstage is abuzz with excited whispers of "What Will Our Star Do Next?"
and you are still there
having your "moment"
unable to understand why the lights are suddenly switched off and the band has stopped playing
and the stage is deserted
save for a few broken chairs and a lonely, crumbling set
this happens every year around this time
i have only just saved myself from another year of torture
because you are gone, now
and i can write you off as a mistake
file you under my little box marked "just don't go there"
and forget about you entirely.
save for the times when i listen to songs you taught me to love
or when i adjust my photo board and come across one of you posing perfectly
eyes raised to the heavens in Perfect Starlet Style
save for the times when you consume my thoughts
like a lioness consumes her prey
i will feed off you till you fade
like they all have, now
you collect groupies; i collect idols
so we were a perfect match
but with all due respect
i just need to get out of here
and i think you should do the same
(that is, talking face to face)
because your head is actually so far up your own arse
that youve lost all contact with the real world
you live in a snowglobe fantasy land
where you are the starlet and the whole world falls at your feet
you are the ballerina in the music box
but i can't seem to close your freakin' lid
so i just keep hearing the tinkling of your conversation
and the repetitively dulcet tones of you telling us all
(for the 3rd time)
about how much they love you back home
and about how they're all clamouring for you to come back
and about all the cards they send you after every show,
telling you how you light up the stage.
it was ok enough for the first few weeks
i rather enjoyed teetering at the edge of your spotlight
unsure of whether i wanted the attention too or whether i wanted to heap it upon you
but after awhile it just got tiresome
my hands were sore from applauding too hard
my throat hoarse from singing your praises
and my ears ringing from the hum of the ever-grateful crowd
enough already:
the show is over
the curtain has come down
backstage is abuzz with excited whispers of "What Will Our Star Do Next?"
and you are still there
having your "moment"
unable to understand why the lights are suddenly switched off and the band has stopped playing
and the stage is deserted
save for a few broken chairs and a lonely, crumbling set
this happens every year around this time
i have only just saved myself from another year of torture
because you are gone, now
and i can write you off as a mistake
file you under my little box marked "just don't go there"
and forget about you entirely.
save for the times when i listen to songs you taught me to love
or when i adjust my photo board and come across one of you posing perfectly
eyes raised to the heavens in Perfect Starlet Style
save for the times when you consume my thoughts
like a lioness consumes her prey
i will feed off you till you fade
like they all have, now
you collect groupies; i collect idols
so we were a perfect match
but with all due respect
i just need to get out of here
and i think you should do the same