| Once, you won’t remember
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| If you said Hollywood
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| Hers was the face you’d think of
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| Her face on every billboard
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| In just a single week
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| She’d get ten thousand letters
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| Men would offer
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| Fortunes for a bloom from her corsage
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| Or a few strands of her hair
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| Today, she’s half-forgotten
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| But it’s the pictures that got small
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| She is the greatest star of all
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| Then, you can’t imagine
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| How fans would sacrifice themselves to touch her shadow
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| There was a maharajah
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| Who hanged himself with one of her discarded stockings
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| She’s immortal
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| Caught inside that flickering light beam
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| Is a youth which cannot fade
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| Madame’s a living legend
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| I’ve seen so many idols fall
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| She is the greatest star of all
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| When he’d gone, I stood looking out the window for a while. |
| There was the ghost
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| of a tennis court with faded markings and a sagging net. |
| There was an empty
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| pool where Clara Bow and Fatty Arbuckle must have swum 10,000 midnights ago.
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| And then there was something else: the chimp’s last rites, as if she were
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| laying a child to rest. |
| Was her life really as empty as that? |