The Fate of Fame
Young girls on tight ropes with hope in their hands,
Hung up so high, trying to dance.
But the music keeps skipping and they slip from their stands,
Light up like fireworks, going down grand.
Bows in their hairs and tears on their skin,
Smiles well practiced and hearts prone to sin.
Hollow and empty, they sing you their song,
Broken wings never seem to hold up for long.
Put on display, cast on big-screens and sets,
Then tossed in the dirt, just another name to forget.
Pretty girls, smart girls, how hard that they wreck,
And the tight ropes they cling to, wrap 'round their necks.
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