Bodies on display like mannequins, welcome to this beauty-salon-cemetery,
Cremated to layers of gold and bronze, sacred statues for the stupid
To bow their immitation-blonde heads, silent worship of This Week's Issue.
A chemical-bath of tanning spray, a wash-in of yellow, a streaking of gold,
So expensive to buy, yet so easily sold.
Superstar, commercial word, comnmercial world,
Sell you, recreate you, metamorph like an insect,
A scrap-metal-butterfly dies on the scrap-heap, your suicide symbol
Of what plastic-"people" aspire to be.
So-called beauty, open your glazed-blue eyes and see.
The price of fame, a face-full of plastic,
The time-line of fame is printed on flimsy, colourful pages,
Depicted clearly for every mindless clone,
Superstar's slaves; obey or die alone.