Not a hero. I'm just like you.

If you aren’t born with it

Little miss, you can still fit

Purchase fake eyes and lips

Smaller bellies, curvy hips

Buy a million dollar costly kit

Just read the warnings, kid

Doctor Perfect please tell me,

Can you fix our hearts with beauty?

Do we really need a lavish surgery?

And a relationship with a warranty?

Everyone’s turning into plastic dolls

Dirty travesties and mechanical idols

Pretty flowers but cheap imitations

This new trend knows no limitations

Doctor Potato, can you be a bit cheaper?

So I can drink your beauty potion in liter

Can a sweet surface make it all real better?

Dear Johnny, writes Crybaby

I’m throwing up a huge party

I want you to be there with me

Help me enjoy a little whisky

Dearest Johnny, it’ll be a great day

You’ll surely like my comical play

My cake will be your delicious liver

And I’ll drink your blood like a warm river

Oh my sweet Johnny, I am really sorry

Did I scare you? Am I becoming a worry?

You will still come honey, won’t you?

I’ll make you milk-cookies colored blue

It’ll be sweet but with lots of poison too

To Crybaby, mails the nervous Johnny

Thanks for recalling me; I’m happy.

The doctor handed me your lovely invitation

Crybaby how innocent you became

With eyes and lips from a fairytale

To be desirable, it’s what you aim

Turn their necks ‘til they break and fail  

You’re Cinderella and Aurora combined

Now you’re hunted by the big bad wolf

Trapped on a Wonderland they can’t find

Sweet, yet his plan is the darkest gulf

He dragged you down and kissed your neck

Covered your lips ‘til no words can escape

Tasted your teeth, gave you a notable peck

As his cold fingers carefully ripped your drape

What a pink page from your favorite bed story

Only it changes from the brightest violet to gray

Hide some skin and hush now Crybaby,

You always feel like you’re one of a kind

Little girl, you don’t know how to recline

You always move twice at a time

Two miles ahead, you can’t be confined

You always think you’re prettier, smarter

Now you can’t find a friend on the corner

Yet you still walk with grace and beauty

If that’s what you call the lack of sympathy

Now it’s dark and you are sad as death

Crybaby hear your sweet, heavy breath

But you still reason it’s not you it’s them

That you’re still brighter than any gem

Now as you sink on your tears of blood

You bath the horrifyingly ireful mud

Guess it’s time you spill the explicit reality