There's a battle out there- this world's got a scheme
To take the 'you' and replace it with 'me'
That's what they call the Hollywood machine-
It just starts with one flaw may never have seen
From there, it eliminates 'identity'
And replaces it somehow with unreal fantasy
Crop out the flaws, dial up autotune
"Don't worry, kid, you'll be better soon"
Like a doctor- the kind that'll poke and He'll prod
And twist your reality like he's some sort of god-
Until you're 'me'
Not the 'me' that's you, but the 'me' that's 'ME'
The magazine kinds- what people want 'me's to be
Just a picture- one that's seen and not heard
And displayed on a wall, never to be disturbed
And it gathers dust, this synthetic perfection
Never to see real love, only shallow affections
From people who think 'perfect' actually exists
Because "It's right there on the wall!" they've come to insist
And they've come to expect this kind of disguise
Never understanding it's constructed of lies, but
"That's just what 'me's look like- look anywhere!
All the beautiful 'me's- isn't that why they're there?
We take what we want- we worship with stares-"
That is- til me realizes she's gotten nowhere
Except for a wall that everyone sees
And the attention she wanted was what caused her to see
That she doesn't want to be a product of the Hollywood machine
The long legs, tan skin- the whole glamour scene-
She doesn't have that, and she knows. She's just a fake 'me'
Thrown onto a conveyor belt- spit out of a machine
This is the real 'me'
Barely five feet tall, not lean or mean
And when the real 'me' walks by, she's practically unseen
People like to tease her Caucasian not-persuasion
But she knows that's okay- she's no man-made creation
Because she knows what happens why you try to take part
In a gambling game that could cost her her heart
Because her heart is the only thing that makes her 'me'-
Not the things that she's done or the things that she's seen.
There's a battle out there- it's a battle for her heart
And it's one she's been fighting inside from the start
The one that's been trying to shape her into the right 'me' to be
Because 'you' is a crowd- a crowd 'me's don't need
But she knows otherwise, and the fight with herself
Taught her that she'd been hiding her heart on a shelf
On the highest rack- where even she couldn't see
But in that dusty corner is where she found the real 'me'.
Not the 'me' in the magazine- who I sometimes wish I was-
But the 'me' divinely knit in the womb all because
There's a battle out there- and I'm sure that you've seen
But I'm here to tell you you're not a part of the Hollywood machine