The stock is empty
In our eyeball store
All we got left
A few cataracts and sores
The faggot mimic machine
Never had ideas
Mission impossible
They self destruct on fear
On a standard New York night
Ghouls go to see their so called stars
A fairly stupid thing
To pay 5 bucks for 4th rate imitators
They say, I'm so empty
No surface, no depth
Oh, please, can I be you
Your personality's so great
Like new buildings
Square tall and the same
Sorry, Miss Stupid
Didn't you you didn't know it was a game
I'm just waiting
For them to hurry up and die
It's really getting too crowded here
Help me New York stars
Contributions accepted all the same
We need a new people store
Remember, we're very good at games
Lyrics provided by LRCLIB
