It's not a cupcake topped with icing
A candle on a cake
A Christmas bonus
That you're so lucky to get
While living paycheck to paycheck, to paycheck
Your natural affection is delayed
By seventy -two hours and forty-five seconds
The lights usually blind your sense of judgment
And make you feel like a queen for a day
Make you forget what you really want to say
It's all relative to every predator gaining
Capital from the weak salivating at the next bit
Of imperfection slung their way
And the beautiful souls who can't see their
Own light as they purchase the magazine
With your face on the cover