98 Shawna L.
I can see through you,
holding a plastic doll.
Thinking, remembering, your savior,
and how I pitied you all.
His eyes were like bluish marble,
and his face expression never changed.
And through the years you still held,
the plastic Jesus, the son of God, you named.
And acting out your play on stage,
you wear your pathetic faces.
While trying to keep a believable smile,
in all of your cold embraces.
And sing such holy songs�
and the star you followed there.
Have all seemed to fit right in,
and the audience just sits and stares.
As if its not been played out enough,
you and your plastic friend.
I tell you when the fire comes,
plastic will melt in the end.
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