A Glass of Fake, With a Side of Disgust

(Option 2)

With her perfect hair and her diamond ring
She marches down Broadway with a desire to sing

She breaks down the door in a theatre too small
And gives the doorman a sweet little call

"When are auditions?" She asks with a ring in her voice
"Right now little miss," he responds with a stolid tone

She walked on that stage with her perfect self
And realized she looked like everyone else

She sang a sweet tune and danced a fancy dance
And looked down as the directors shared a rant

"Next," one said in her vending machine voice
Down she went, she didn't have a choice

Her perfect curves and her perfect hair
Couldn't save her a spot on the production of "Hair"

Her fate, she knew, was not unlike others
When a stunning new woman entered covered in feathers

"She's the new Barby," one said to another
"She's so perfect," the director tells her brother

And so Barby marched, back down Broadway
And knew that too soon, she had her day

Her perfect curves and her perfect hair
Couldn't promise her the life of one Miss Liz Faire

And as she returned, to her cold cardboard home
She could only pick up that dull plastic comb

And she lived her days, staring into a mirror
Considering the ways, she could look even cleaner

She was out of date, and out of style
She was simply a paper, to be stuffed in a file