Seven Dead Orchids

The vortex of addiction is out of square
 there are imaginary catchwords everywhere
 The ego-dolls reap the meadows of megalomania
 and we crave the spotlight
 An ephemeral prostitute in the centre of attention
 my deserted space needs another case of intervention
 celebrity is my speciality
 glamorised in fashion I am the mannequin to be
 Oh, sweet seventeen... her unblemished face
 clad in the tint of juvenile flesh
 seven dead orchids
 lay trampled and beguiled
 like the lust that died
 She sits astride
 The pictures my crayons painted
 xeroxed and airbrushed to fit
 admiration disguised in trivial pursuits
 animated to death...
 The vortex of addiction is out of square
 there are imaginary catchwords everywhere
 The ego-dolls reap the meadows of megalomania
 and we crave the spotlight...