Oh, girl, let your hair down low
All over me, yeah,
I want you all over me. Climb on now, hard and fast
Just let me cram in as many sexual innuendos as I can,
And they’ll play it on the radio
They’ll play it to little ones who I’ll mold into one of my very own
Say, who cares if this song don’t rhyme
I just wanna cash in on other girls’ insecurities
Most of them barely even hit puberty
Oh well, we say, this shit sells
Why make the world a little better when
You can make it look ugly?
We’ll make the little girls hate themselves and,
Yeah, we’ll think it’s funny
I know sex sells and
I’m so original for using it in my lyrics, who’d have thought that’s the way to make
I know it’s disgusting, so please go ahead
Go ahead and tell yourself you hate it
That you abhor it, that it’s wrong
But you’ll still watch it, buy it, and get it to the charts,
Buy it, Buy it, and let your daughter paste it all over her bedroom walls in sparkly little hearts
I may be an image, a brand, and a lie
But only I have the power to make your baby girl cry.
Cry my name and shout it, scream it, blast it through the walls
Go and buy her that cake with my face on it
For I’m the only thing she adores
She’ll find other boys soon to give her a big fat diamond ring
But for now I hold the key, the key, yes, the key
to screw with her own insignificant self worth
I’ll shape her own perception of herself,
And make her feel lost when she realises that she can never,
Ever be with the construct that defines itself as ‘me’.
You are as light as the atmosphere above the clouds, light and springy and always fresh.
You’re where I hold the chain to my locket, where both our hearts are kept and where they beat in sync, together, one, two, one, two. To me, truly, you’re as bright and shiny as a star reaching across space, rising up and falling down across the galaxies, sparkling like a new sun burning bright in all the chaos of the universe. It makes me laugh and you won’t ever admit it but you’re about as mad as a comic genius and I know you pretty much are one too. Just don’t get too crazy on me. I don’t know whether I can live through that.
Sometimes, you’re as easy as an upside down open paged book to read, full of squiggly lines and with almost all of the words inside it written in German, Icelandic or a language that only people of a far away land can speak. Sometimes I don’t understand you and sometimes we’re almost the same person. And that’s okay. And I know that right now, where you are, you’re a busy, striving caterpillar, dreaming big dreams and all wrapped inside your very own accommodated cocoon. You’re so hell bent on giving it all your might to turn into that beautiful butterfly we both know you’ll one day turn out to be.
I’m scared for you and sometimes, towards me, you can be as cool and startlingly cruel as a solid sheath of ice, hardened and with a piercing glare that can sometimes scare me. You’re like the sun, sometimes too bright for your own good. You’re locked, baby, perilously inside a turreted, high glaciated castle, its windows and doors barred for me to get in. But I can melt away your troubles and your icy glares with a wave of my wand, my hands, and pray that it’s magic and hope that one day you’ll come back to me in a world where we can be once more together, where we can finally, again, be us.