Caitlyn, Caitlyn, oh why should I care about your looks, your clothes, your long silken hair? How you scream look at me, give me your eyes, while pathetically flashing your gaudy new guise. Still a media whore, a narcissist to boot, who kills other people, add another civil suit. But what value is life if it is not your own, every soul to you is a stepping stone for the money, the money will fill that shell and finance that beloved sybaritic hell. You care very little for the cause that you claim, but in society today who do we blame? The shallow media, the vapid crowd, or middle America who has been wowed, wowed into silence by the insanity of now. Not even reality, it seems, is a sacred cow. In this world gone mad, and it is so sad, so sad that we laud all that is bad. We laud the venal, the wretched, the truly mundane, but are quiet for heroes of unknown name. For there are those who suffer and yearn and strive to be, but them, not them, will we ever see. Lets lift up a symbol and pretend that we care, and Caitlyn, yes Caitlyn, can do it with flair. Chop chop went Bruce, a weight all too heavy, for that feeling, that feeling of cruel cruel envy of Kim and Khloe, Kourtney and Kris, Kylie and Kendall, who did I miss? For Vanity, sweet Vanity, you soil your cause, but you’ve done that before, its one of your flaws. For Wheaties you tossed prestige in the trash, what cause can’t be sold for some easy cash? A hero, a true hero seeks no reward, but you, you’ve made hero a four letter word. But who cares, who cares, lets pretend, and make of reality what we can. So sell your name, sell your face, sell your soul if you want, for in mind and body you are a f*cking c*nt.