You fabricated marvel
Your synthetic god’ll
Let you live your imaginary best-of life
You’ll be in such a hurry
To finish with a flurry
Don’t you know only the good die young?
Never be treasured
for such deadly chic
To flitty to be anything
for more than a week
Think you make such a
pretty face
You’ll never know
Why they’ll never
like you
Have I become cliché
in all of my old ways?
I have to think I am so much more than that