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Happiness that's always sought and never found - beauty |
It is a dire business, Beauty; All vanity's in vain So we can break our made-up hearts Saying there is pleasure in our pain. Before the altar of Narcissus i too shall bow lowly And drown in my reflection slowly. It is a dire business Beauty, With her poisoned smiles And crushing iron corsets. And i too shall burn my ears And cut my legs and live on air I shall run till my feet are raw, I shall purge till my throat is sore. I cannot laugh, I cannot cry. I cannot live, I cannot die. I know the sterile walls and deathbed cries Of hospitals all too well; My reflection says 'Get better!' But I am not unwell. My body does not sweat; it merely melts For I am plasticine and plastic, Russian hair and felt. I know every surgeon by their name, and trademark greedy grin; I know the calories in everything, but still, can never win. I shall not think for buzzing On four-hundred pound ccocaine My only sustnance will be knock-off price champagne (one hundred calories a glass). I only go to parties to bear my teeth, And wake up with a stranger stranger every day Who'll leave me once their sober For they cannot stomach my array Of chemical aromas. This is not for humour; THis is not for truth; This is for that noble quest, Search for Eternal Youth. No, not for happiness, And never, not for fun; This is for my duty, The one, the only one - It is a dire business, Beauty. |