| Well, they’ve made a Golden Idol of the girl you used to be
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| Hangin' bangles on your branches like a lonely Christmas tree
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| Yeah, they’ve dressed you fit for killin' in your thrillin' new disguise
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| Nailin' artificial spangles to the diamonds in your eyes
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| In that golden coach that turns into a bed
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| You better make it, gal, before you wake up dead
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| 'Cause they’ll paint your burning beauty with a coat of shiny lies
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| And they’ll blind you with their wine so you won’t even realize
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| 'Til you watch the face you’re washing disappearing down the drain
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| And you’re staring in your mirror going privately insane
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| And that golden crown they’ve pushed down on your head
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| You better make it, gal, before you wake up dead
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| Look around them golden sidewalks that you’re walking on today
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| And you’ll see that lonely gutter just a careless step away
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| And that altar that they’re building you don’t even understand
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| 'Cause you’re dazzled by the flashing of the daggers in their hands
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| You’ll be dancing in the darkness when their music disappears
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| And the jangle of your chains will be the only sound you hear
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| 'Til your broken body’s bleeding on an altar made of stone
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| And you’ve sacrificed your soul to please a world that’s sick and wrong
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| And you never heard a single word I said
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| Aww, make it, gal, before you wake up dead |