She said, I'm done with looking back, and you look your age
On a sunny summer day or, okay, an August night anyway
What a ghastly sight you smear in every face
As you roam on silk, ripped tippy-toe alone through Silver lake
All mussed into an’ I've just been fucked shape
And fucking let them stare because at this point I don't care
I have been your bride stripped bare since ’98
In that fat, fur-trimmed affair that your lawyer lets you wear
This week's fast as last week's flash of interstate
This week's splashed a sick, gold cast across your face
When you starved and never ate
Marie's passed out in a chair with her once fussed-over hair
It's a gas now, it's a laugh, just how far several mil can take it
Gassed and trashed and smashed, young cads roasting away
Which is thirty-seven, by the way, and not twenty-eight
And you're living on air, while on the 25th floor up there
They'd fan a million bucks before your face
Splayed astride a snow-white mare, on a non-stop all-night tear
And our silver-screen affair, it weighs less to me than air
Just an hour before, she crashed, all cashed
