Superficial 
little 
bitch
I try and see below
Hate the 
vapid
vain
disguise
That I wear for the world
Absent-minded
bubblehead
Is this who I am?
It used to be
That I could see
And just be myself
But now the question
On my mind
Who is the real self?
The moaning whore
I rarely see?
The beaten child
who cowers, hides?
The brainiac
Who no-one likes
Or the 'baby' 
they all need?
The girl who writes
by candlelight
The woman 
they think they know
The gypsy who cannot be still
Who loves only the moon
Or I, who knows
deep inside
That it doesnt matter
Its all a lie