so, you finally got what you wanted —
you've achieved your aim
by making the walking lame
when you just can't get any higher,
you use your senses
to suss out this week's climber
and the small fame that you've aquired
has brought you into cult status,
but to me you're still a collector
there's tarts and whores,
but you're much more
you're a different kind,
'cause you want their mind
and you just don't care,
'cause you've got no brain —
it's just a face on your pillowcase
that thrills you
and you've started looking much older
and your fashion sense
is second-rate like your perfume
but to you in your own little dream world,
you're still the queen
of the butterfly collectors
you carry on,
'cause it's all you know
you can't light a fire,
you can't cook or sew
you get from day to day
by filling your head,
but you surely must know
the thrill between your legs
has worn off
and I don't care about morals,
'cause the world's insane
and we're all to blame anyway
and I don't feel any sorrow
towards the kings and queens
of the butterfly collectors
there's tarts and whores,
but you're much more
you're a different kind,
'cause you want their mind
and you just don't care,
'cause you've got no brains —
it's just a face on your pillowcase
that thrills you
you carry on,
'cause it's all you know
you can't light a fire,
you can't cook or sew
you get from day to day
by filling your head,
but you surely must know
the thrill between your legs
has worn off
and I don't feel any sorrow
towards the kings and queens
of the butterfly collectors
