Ah, what a world this is,
Where cheerful, optimistic geeks dressed all in white are actually
Closeted Marilyn Manson fanatics who crave the delicious passion of S&M.
Hypocrisy thrives here, shining up there in lights,
Twinkling smugly down at them all, chuckling, feeling at its finest.
But the tiny dolls below the glaring neon sign are oblivious to it,
Smiling endlessly through their eerie green masks,
While the truth continues to flash above them impatiently, waiting to be realized.
Like a floating pair of gigantic breasts, it seems impossible that no one notices it,
But on and on it waits, a tragically invisible headline that could save them all,
And the little creepy wax statues down there stare persistently ahead,
Unseeing with their blank, painted, unbalanced eyeballs.
If every one of them were slapped silly, they'd still never look up.
Every unlikely good deed here is repaid with death and still more hate.
But those little dolls don't hear the blatant rage screaming in their deaf ears.
Those who do can never stop it, for every inanimate eye that wakes,
And every firm mouth that flexes and finally cries out,
Another man rapes, another kills, another dies.
So the poor, sad dolls just melt under their endless tears and the beating sun,
But never take the time to run away from what's killing them.
Like a death-wish granted, all their nightmares come to life,
Monster mirrors chasing them through the shadows of themselves,
Which stretch across the thicket of forests where the dark trees grow too tall to be real,
And surrealism dominates all else. Ah, what a world this is,
Where angry Satanists donned in leather and decorated in permanent ink
Write beautiful love songs and cut
Out pretty pink hearts to plaster around the world anonymously.
Their lives smell like a crumpled Valentine tossed into someone's wastebasket.
Ah, what a world this is.