Prom Dresses and White Picket Fences
She is whole; she is trapped and lost
In her blinding world of empty heartbeats.
Always shining cerulean-they lie
They bleed in the dark, blue glazed, where nobody can see them.
Pretty waitress, Hollywood actress
A chaser; replace her, there are countless.
Giving up all they worked for, dreams, aspirations
To line someone's pockets, to be somebody's show girl.
Where is the honest satisfaction,
From simple, shallow, commercial validation?
Perfect curls, perfect girls
In their own mass-produced way.
Pink Mohair, blonde streaked hair
The taste of cherry chapstick, strictly no fishnet.
Pleated cream, pressed, polished, clean
Prom dresses, white picket fences, heart shaped lips
Heart shaped kisses, how can they live with knowing
Every smile they fake, every peach-scented breath
They take, everything screams false, look at me, I'm famous
In the shades of lemon and lilac.
And when they laugh, how do you know its real?
Stretching back glossed lips into frenzied flirty snickers.
A wink; their happiness is not contagious but dangerous.
And when she holds him, she can only hold him for so long
In plastic arms of false security, bars of the cage.
Her rage, how surpressed, how damaged, why can't she scream?
Overrated, superficial, overly conceited
Contrition-never! Oh, to bring themselves to feel!
They're not real, they are a truth we are forced to believe in
They are a fact we are supposed to learn to live with.
Hello there, I can't say I'm glad to see you
Your presence makes me feel wrong, unwanted, dirty.
I am not scrubbed, squeaky-clean and proud.
I sit at the back of the class, I wear black, I don't wear lipstick
I rub my face and smudge the mask
I only talk to boys for homework answers, not wedding proposals.
Talk like that, curtsey, walk and hold yourself
Drift around dinner parties with the pink champagne and a cheap cabaret.
This floor show, to keep you tall
Your fall; your crash and burn and shatter.
Golden girls in white skirts
Circle the floor, spinning softly
Selling their souls.
Hand in hand, hearts on fire
Their conceited unrequited love is a myth(will always be a myth)
Dates and prom tiaras, veils and grandchildren
Oh finally, our lost little girl is beautiful!
She will be one to parade, instead of one to lock away
Finally, she will be ours
Yet tearing past the sugar and ice
Rip the flowers, shatter the glass, ruin all image maintaned.
I will not wear heels, pile my hair; I shall not wear blusher
When she grows up, ugly independant Annie will not marry.
In her blinding world of empty heartbeats.
Always shining cerulean-they lie
They bleed in the dark, blue glazed, where nobody can see them.
Pretty waitress, Hollywood actress
A chaser; replace her, there are countless.
Giving up all they worked for, dreams, aspirations
To line someone's pockets, to be somebody's show girl.
Where is the honest satisfaction,
From simple, shallow, commercial validation?
Perfect curls, perfect girls
In their own mass-produced way.
Pink Mohair, blonde streaked hair
The taste of cherry chapstick, strictly no fishnet.
Pleated cream, pressed, polished, clean
Prom dresses, white picket fences, heart shaped lips
Heart shaped kisses, how can they live with knowing
Every smile they fake, every peach-scented breath
They take, everything screams false, look at me, I'm famous
In the shades of lemon and lilac.
And when they laugh, how do you know its real?
Stretching back glossed lips into frenzied flirty snickers.
A wink; their happiness is not contagious but dangerous.
And when she holds him, she can only hold him for so long
In plastic arms of false security, bars of the cage.
Her rage, how surpressed, how damaged, why can't she scream?
Overrated, superficial, overly conceited
Contrition-never! Oh, to bring themselves to feel!
They're not real, they are a truth we are forced to believe in
They are a fact we are supposed to learn to live with.
Hello there, I can't say I'm glad to see you
Your presence makes me feel wrong, unwanted, dirty.
I am not scrubbed, squeaky-clean and proud.
I sit at the back of the class, I wear black, I don't wear lipstick
I rub my face and smudge the mask
I only talk to boys for homework answers, not wedding proposals.
Talk like that, curtsey, walk and hold yourself
Drift around dinner parties with the pink champagne and a cheap cabaret.
This floor show, to keep you tall
Your fall; your crash and burn and shatter.
Golden girls in white skirts
Circle the floor, spinning softly
Selling their souls.
Hand in hand, hearts on fire
Their conceited unrequited love is a myth(will always be a myth)
Dates and prom tiaras, veils and grandchildren
Oh finally, our lost little girl is beautiful!
She will be one to parade, instead of one to lock away
Finally, she will be ours
Yet tearing past the sugar and ice
Rip the flowers, shatter the glass, ruin all image maintaned.
I will not wear heels, pile my hair; I shall not wear blusher
When she grows up, ugly independant Annie will not marry.