Let's talk about this beauty and what it means to be beautiful, and how sometimes, it means everything. I'll burn myself to be lovely to be exactly what the magazines tell me to be. And just in case I'll hate myself and everyone else who doesn't look just like me. So I rely on what I seem to be to get by and for that reason I'm the only one that I ever fall in love with. And now the one thing that I'll never get to be is a person with the insides that look half as good as the face you want to see. Now we can address ugly: no one's as ugly as someone who founds their beauty on their reflection in someone else's shame. No I won't deny there's beauty, or the elegance of blood red lips, but gorgeous stops when it's wrapped in plastic and stamped with a designer name. So some mornings I think I almost see this isn't me in the mirror. That the face I'm painting, it has been sold to me. And one morning I'll wake up what's left of me and the one thing that didn't wither was the light inside that no one got to see. In this world I'm trying to fool, in a world that objects rule, In a world I'm trying to live. So lets not talk about beauty there's so much beauty in everything the worlds so full of it, it means nothing. It's my one chance to try and gain control, but this body isn't mine, no it's not me. And the one thing a designer hasn't sold is the reason and the grace to say, this is not me.