I’ve had to lie, for most of my life
to princesses, witches. Oh, what strife.
Who cares who’s the prettiest of all ‘dem t’ings?
Whoever asks the question is really disturb’ing.
So what do they see in that reflection of mine?
I’m guessing a false kind of self divine.
Cos your real self ain’t a patch on that fake.
What do you want today? Transparent? Opaque?
When you ask me a question, don’t expect the truth.
‘Cos if you look too hard, you’re just chasing youth.