Superstar of the apocalypse

You made your mark, well you hit your fix

you shared your pics, well they’re tasteful not sick

on the cover of your magazine, you’re the beauty queen

for those you burn and the kudos you earn

when will Britiain ever learn

praise at her feet well she’s the bitch

you call this freedom well that’s sodding rich

you sell to me, the opportunity

for me to be

whatever you feel I should be

I got no wants and I ain’t got no yearns

you sapped my will when I was eager to learn

now who is wrong, well that’s hard for me to discern

unadultarated deflating me you cow

take not I’m on the prowl

so you’re the superstar? should I kowtow

Superstar of the apocalypse is what you are