The stock is empty In our eyeball store All we got left A few cataracts and sores The f*ggot 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