You see me on the catwalk
standing silently alone
like some davidless Goliath
like some Leonard Cohen clone
And you want to ask me questions
but no questions will suffice
want to roll me softly over
want to clamp me in advice
I was a soft target
sickly, sickly – no guarantees
I was a soft target
our worldly romance, so military
All celebrities are targets
I feel like giving in
to the whims of mysticism
to the trials of unborn sin
there are victims on the cover
of every glossy magazine
they masquerade as perfect specimens
as the stars of stage and screen
I was a soft target
saintly, saintly – no guarantees
I was a soft target
our worldly romance, unfurled as disease
Want to heal my wounds in silence
want to whip me into shape
like some military college
like some mental form of rape
want to help me find religion
not religions of the past
just a better way of thinking
make the flag fly at full mast
I was a soft target
victim, victim – steamrolled over me
but now look who’s heartbroken
thought I could be saved for free