The strands of smoke that pour from her lips
Blend with an atmosphere dimly lit;
The sight of the scene would make a man bewitched,
For it were as if her beauty were some sort of trick.

Her aura of importance, vanity, and fashion
Are comparable to an openly adored fascism.

She regards the rules as much as possible
To make herself look as good as a model.

Spending hours at a time to look her best,
She relieves the stress with cigarettes.
There's hope that they will make her forget
All of the mistakes and all of the regrets.

Though most of her relationships were abusive
None of them yet have brought her story to conclusion
Now she's hiding all of her problems as if they're delusions
Behind smoke and mirrors--the perfect illusion.