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    The Polaroid of perfection, demirep and stained with hate
    Well wounded I stuttle the crowd with my vogue lack of faith
    The up and coming vendetta, the # vultures' extremes
    Spruce me up with a sweet little plaything, spruce me fucking supreme
    I raise my craving hands, to the image of her promised land
    The succulent teenage cunt, tempteth me to exeunt
    Wish me well, wish me hell... all I ever wanted was a story to tell
    The absence of goals, the lack of control
    The absence of aim and the present fame...
    The absence of goals, the lack of control
    Everyone knows I should be extolled
    The absence of aim and the present fame
    Everyone would sell their souls to play this game
    ... it's the game we play...

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