And our silver-screen affair, it weighs less to me than air
They'd fan a million bucks before your face
In that fat, fur-trimmed affair that your lawyer lets you wear
On a sunny summer day or, okay, an August night anyway
She said, I'm done with looking back, and you look your age
Which is thirty-seven, by the way, and not twenty-eight
As you roam on silk, ripped tippy-toe alone through Silver lake
You'll destroy your chance to ever get repeatedly engaged
What a ghastly sight you smear in every face
It's a gas now, it's a laugh, just how far several mil can take it
When you starved and never ate
And you're living on air, while on the 25th floor up there
Just an hour before, she crashed, all cashed

And fucking let them stare because at this point I don't care

Splayed astride a snow-white mare, on a non-stop all-night tear
Marie's passed out in a chair with her once fussed-over hair
This week's splashed a sick, gold cast across your face

Gassed and trashed and smashed, young cads roasting away
This week's fast as last week's flash of interstate

All mussed into an’ I've just been fucked shape
I have been your bride stripped bare since ’98