She says she's made of stone,
the kind that is cold to the touch,
she wears a crown, she sits on her throne
but she really doesn't know very much.
She's pretty to look at, she smiles a lot
she knows what she's about.
She never cries, she tries,
she gets everything she wants.
But the cracks are showing,
her skin has stopped glowing,
She knows she's running out of time.
Beneath perfection is this fragile thing,
when touched scatters about.
It's there she hides all her fears,
and the sins she'll never act out.
It's this, her secret secret she protects
with every bit of strength and submission.
If all of this were to come tumbling down,
The glass will shatter, and so will her crown.
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