I can fill my own shallow grave
You always said I was too vain

But you are too bland
With the vanilla ideals you seem to depend on

So I can't sit here, and watch you do it
Although it would provide some entertainment

Once, I was agile
And I spun webs of golden lies

I was a spider in my nikes
With eight shining glass eyes

Now, I lure you down to the reservoir
Where I'm face-down in mud

I did love you, truly
I just must have loved myself more

Write a song about me.
Illustrate me in your novel.
Remember me.