Flash!
Click! Click!
He captures her every curve
even the sweat trickling down her back
he clicks while she arches her back
head tilt back...
twisting her body in seductive angles
whilst thinking, "Damn, i haven't paid the bills,
anther night studying under the candles."
Flash!
The car lights dim as Benjamin pulls up
he eyes her from the plastic diamonds on her neck
to the clear stilettos she wears.
She leans over the window...
waiting for an invitation to jump in,
he nods...she get's in,
they drive out into the dim.
Flash!
The lights are bright again,
she's back in front of the shiny black camera
this time to be recorded and packaged in a black box
to be watched at home in your idiot box
like those Japanese girls, she's only in her socks.
She shakes her goodies
barely out of her teens
ready to be the focus of grown men's wet dreams.
Flash!
She stumbles on the stage
nervous as her hand jitters
holding the mic that could save her,
the mic that's gonna make her,
the mic that could break her.
She bellows out a tune
that shuts the room,
for money and fame, so she can fly high like kites
she's just another victim of those flashing lights.
Flash!
Addicted to the glare
nothing can move her
except if you're ready to stare.
She craves attention (There goes Lindsay!)
whether on her booty (Shake that Beyonce!)
or her psychology (She shaved her head again, Britney?)
or even her broken marriage (Oh poor Whitney...)
Like her we crave presence
to satisfy our urges,
waiting for some pretty thing
to take us to the furthest.
In front or behind,
were all victims of those flashing lights
cause again and again, over and over...
they so effortlessly blind our sights.
Photograph : __shelter___by_a_t_i_s-d38eo7d
