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 a 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 know it was a game

I'm just waiting

For them to hurry up and die

It's really getting to crowed here

Help me new york stars

Contributions accepted all the same

We need new people store

Remember, we're very good at games