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⛧ CROWNED IN CELLOPHANE ⛧

“You walk in like the mirror owes you something.
Like the world is just your warped reflection,
and the rest of us?
Ghosts.
Watching you worship yourself.”

VERSE 1

Your mirror weeps for rest,
but you keep posing,
a martyr made of lipgloss and delusion.
Every word is lacquered in performance,
every breath an application for applause.

You tread softly
only on the backs of quieter people,
decorating their bruises with your name.
You're not bold — you're just loud,
and no one tells you to stop
because it’s easier to look away
than to watch you unravel.

CHORUS

Crowned in cellophane,
you shine until you melt.
Your glory is a packaging trick —
hollow, weightless, burnable.
No throne. No depth.
Just a pedestal
you dragged into the spotlight
and called it sacred.

VERSE 2

You drink compliments
like communion,
sacred until they run dry.
Then you spit in the chalice
and blame the wine.

You mimic compassion
like it’s a costume change,
but your kindness has a glare —
a transaction waiting to be reposted.

The people who love you bleed quietly.
But your suffering?
Loud. Curated. Monetized.

CHORUS

Crowned in cellophane,
you shine until you melt.
Your glory is a packaging trick —
hollow, weightless, burnable.
No throne. No depth.
Just a pedestal
you dragged into the spotlight
and called it sacred.

BRIDGE

There is no truth in your reflection.
Only echoes,
bouncing off the walls of a chamber
you locked from the inside.

We see you.
Stripped of filters.
Starved of admiration.
You're not lonely —
you’re just finally alone.

FINAL CHORUS

Crowned in cellophane,
plastic royalty in a kingdom of likes.
You mistook fear for reverence,
and silence for awe.
But darling,
even vultures wait quietly
for something to rot.

OUTRO

"You weren’t worshipped.
You were endured."

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