I am a glossy photograph
I am in color and softly lit
Overexposed and well blown up
Carefully printed and neatly cut
You can look at me for hours
I won’t mind, I’ll let you dream
From the page of a magazine
I am a glossy photograph
Of course I am a bit retouched
And my color has been processed
But cameras always erase
Fear lurking behind a face
I am a lie and I am gold
But I shall never grow old
My lips are parted
But they’re not for kissing
My eyes are open
But I’m not listening
My breasts are round
But my heart is missing
I’m a photograph, I’m a photograph
I’m better than the real thing
I am a glossy photograph
I am appearing by the magic
Of a Nikon Automatic
Maybe I’m just a piece of paper
But some think that I am better
Cause photographs do not complain
Or cry, or love, or suffer
Or cry, or love, or suffer
Or cry, or love, or suffer