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