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#notruefreedom
I’m sick of it, The blasted hordes like dried-out gourds Screaming, cawing for more water. Feed the flesh, delight the eyes Give us our shining fantasy. With flippancy Strip down past all the layers of My skill my voice my person, And then take me, break me, make me Into someone I am not. Into something that is not. Pull the paints out. Imperfections had their day Yesterday. Today we’re going all the way. Make or break you, Take and shape you: Tonight you’ll be the idol of the world. Set the lights, hold your poise. There’s a goddess on the stage tonight. Not a person. Not a voice. It’s the *** doll’s dance tonight. But we’ll call it art. I’m sick of it, The cursed curve, Numbers up, so clothes come down; and to think I started out So innocent. But the eye of the tiger is broken, The clearness of crystal is crushed - and those shards just make the perfect dress! Crystalize, sterilize, Put me on a different plane. Separate, distillate, Don’t let them see your pain. “If you have to show you’re broken, It’s gotta be so you can gain.” Strip away. Everything. Don’t show them who you really are. We need an image for the covers Not a person. Not a windowpane Into your soul. So break free, defying, Undying. You’re like a god. No more trying. True flying Means no more rules for me. Don’t let them try to Defy you: You are now allowed to breathe free. But only if you push the line. Flaunt your paints and shine your sparkles, leave behind your decency. You stand before a watching globe It is your job to entertain. So really, you are not your own. The masses are the masters, though they pay. So no, there’s no way out for you. There’s only forward Which is downward. And no chance To just be you. Because Your freedom isn’t free. They just can’t take a faulty human. It would be a let-down, A break-down. So let us shove you in a box. Tell you how you have to be. If you’re gonna keep your money And your parody of free. Then take the stage Play the part. There’s no more music No more art. Just a mad house, a cat house Diced up platters serving meat. Kiss my chains, take my gains, For all my pains I still ain’t free. But still. We’ll call it art.
0
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 11:05 PM UTC
mldetwiler
I, P0p$tar
I’m sick of it, The blasted hordes like dried-out gourds Screaming, cawing for more water. Feed the flesh, delight the eyes Give us our shining fantasy. With flippancy Strip down past all the layers of My skill my voice my person, And then take me, break me, make me Into someone I am not. Into something that is not. Pull the paints out. Imperfections had their day Yesterday. Today we’re going all the way. Make or break you, Take and shape you: Tonight you’ll be the idol of the world. Set the lights, hold your poise. There’s a goddess on the stage tonight. Not a person. Not a voice. It’s the *** doll’s dance tonight. But we’ll call it art. I’m sick of it, The cursed curve, Numbers up, so clothes come down; and to think I started out So innocent. But the eye of the tiger is broken, The clearness of crystal is crushed - and those shards just make the perfect dress! Crystalize, sterilize, Put me on a different plane. Separate, distillate, Don’t let them see your pain. “If you have to show you’re broken, It’s gotta be so you can gain.” Strip away. Everything. Don’t show them who you really are. We need an image for the covers Not a person. Not a windowpane Into your soul. So break free, defying, Undying. You’re like a god. No more trying. True flying Means no more rules for me. Don’t let them try to Defy you: You are now allowed to breathe free. But only if you push the line. Flaunt your paints and shine your sparkles, leave behind your decency. You stand before a watching globe It is your job to entertain. So really, you are not your own. The masses are the masters, though they pay. So no, there’s no way out for you. There’s only forward Which is downward. And no chance To just be you. Because Your freedom isn’t free. They just can’t take a faulty human. It would be a let-down, A break-down. So let us shove you in a box. Tell you how you have to be. If you’re gonna keep your money And your parody of free. Then take the stage Play the part. There’s no more music No more art. Just a mad house, a cat house Diced up platters serving meat. Kiss my chains, take my gains, For all my pains I still ain’t free. But still. We’ll call it art.
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