Behold the Lord of imagery,

the God who gets the third degree

Drugs and cigarettes clasped in her right hand,

but the victory is bland

Blood on arms and blood on wrists

streak down to her fingertips

And the needle pierces into her vein

injecting a shot of cocaine

She's been tucked away so long

that she can't tell right from wrong

And although it's just absurd,

they heed her every word

She has her own religion set

Her worshippers are just her pets

Erotic pursuits highten her repute,

for the passion is the pain

Romanticism is unknown;

they're wrapped around her lust cyclone

watching in aroused transfix

as she burns her crucifix

She's been tucked away so long

that she can't tell right from wrong

And although it's just absurd,

they heed her every word

And so it seems, there is not God

It was all just a forcade

And Lucifer can't compare to her;

she numbs away his extistence

And therefore marks our dying day

We're all lost souls just led astray

by fantasies of another world

by some misunderstood girl

that was tucked away so long

that she can't tell right from wrong

And although it seems absurd...

She's been hiding in the night

And she can't tell wrong from right

And we'll give in to this fad;

it's delightfully mad

A/N: Please R&R. Thanks.