The Marionette

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The Marionette 

My wardrobe's full of sparkly dresses
but I don't know anymore who to wear them for.
My life's excess has sustained the press;
I asked for more— their darling whore. 

They gave me a glass cage and called it a home,
put me on a cross and called it a throne;
I danced like a ballerina in hopes to please...
...the hungry abonnés should fulfill my wish. 

Spotlight on the stage replaced my sun,
I'm a property of everyone
and I never thought I would regret
selling myself as a marionette. 

Ruffle-hemlined dresses, different shiny gowns,
nightly royal dance ball in different shiny towns,
smiling to impress and not to express
a damsel should not let them see her distress. 

They gave me a noose and called it a necklace,
told me to patch up a porcelain crevice,
cut off my toes to fit the shoes
and my love is a romanticized abuse. 

They say the brighter you shine, the faster you burn:
a star who lost its shine is an ash in an urn
and you'll only regain the public's concern
when your grave won't let you seek a return. 

Camera flashes replaced my stars—
a price to pay for a superstar. 
And I never thought I would regret 
selling myself as a marionette. 

I do, I do, I do regret
selling myself as a marionette. 

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