N.Y. Stars

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