(Korpela)

The face in the looking glass is pasty and plump
Half a dozen chins and a blubbery rump
The mirror need not lie to the carnival of the brain
Where you walk the wind feels pain

Artillery of images hits you right where it hurts
Inner beauty comes out in acidic spurts
Walking sticks and too many stones
They'll break your brittle protruding bones

A million adoring watering eyes
A body with no head
Emulating, choking, puking throats
Swallow what they're fed

Preparing foreign objects for shoving in
Fetching, retching, stretching skin
Flawless, perky plastic orbs
Hover in front of a skeletal corpse
Conditioned to expect polymer perfect
A feature your own a birth defect

Your body is raw material
Through torment molded into myth

Shapes and forms beyond the art of gene and cell
An arms race to overload the drive that can't tell
You the supply demanded to perform
No longer surprised by the ever stretching norm
World of lenses, no look but a leer
Not the hand on the crank, you're a tooth in the gear

A million adoring watering eyes
Self esteem has fled
Emulating, choking, puking throats
Swallow what they're fed

A million adoring watering eyes
The gaze of the dead
Emulating, choking, puking throats
Swallow what they're fed

Perfection
Self esteem has fled
A body with no head
You swallow what you're fed