You keep on piling branches onto the fire
Your toehold's slipping quickly up on the high wire

You're passionate and perfect
That's what I'm always told
but when you look in the mirror
you feel like you've been sold

They made you into something
you didn't want to be -
a goddess they could worship
or blame for their misery

There at your vanity table,
thinking that love's just a fable
You're getting sick of your label
but no one will ever be able to tell

You leave a trail of bodies
and they've left their scars on you
but part of you is screaming
for a new debut

©1994 Dolph Chaney