Little One,
such a pretty picture
in your daddy's wallet,
you strike a pose
and flirt with the camera.

(a smile, give us a smile)

you dance around the boys
and swing your hips
and twirl your auburn hair,
a lie
in your music-language
and you know it.

(that waist, give us that waist)

Little one,
you hold that boy's hand
as if he were your savior,
and look at him
with that feeble intensity,
begging him to take you away
you precious doll.

(those eyes, flash us those eyes)

and we both know
that you're lying,
always with your desperate attempts
to fill your wounds
with their affection -

(those tears, pour us your tears!)

because you've learned
how to win the people's hearts,
a man's attention,
with the softness of your voice
as you promise empty things
to gain a soul to play with,
happiness to take away
to make up for your pain
woman, give me your influence.