Can't you see pretty lady?
You're all washed up.
Your fifteen minutes are up my dear,
The great beyond awaits you now-don't fear.
Gather your frilly dresses and fancy airs,
And fly fly far away from here.
The harlot sings your song
The young girls again you'll not be among.
You're way past your prime,
To keep you here would be a crime.
So leave now with your shreds of grace,
never return to show your face.
Your collecting days are over,
The butterflies have fled for cover.
Please go now pretty lady,
your perfume is making me ill.
Your clown mask is breaking
I can see all the lines.
Don't hide now pretty lady,
it's time to go.