Lyrics

They dressed her in fuck-me silk and cherry-stained lies,Bleached her roots and called it rise.They made her sugar with a side of sighs, Taught her to purr instead of reply. Taught her to moan through a smile, to tremble on cue—But sugar, she faked every “yes” they ever knew.She wasn’t dumb, she played it delicious.Giggled while swallowing rooms full of vicious.Men called her baby with bourbon breath,But she held their hunger like loaded death.She was the joke with the 36-22-35 punchline, Built like a prayer and punished like sin, they crowned her a goddess, then blamed her for men.A walking wet dream in Valentine red,But baby—let’s get one thing straight She memorized your lines and stayed ten steps ahead You think she slept her way to scripts?No, she studied while you stared at her lips.She wasn’t late—she was resisting the urgeTo show up on time and still not be heard.She was tits and tragedy, lips and lore,But never the whore they built her for.She sold desire by the pound,But don’t confuse the price with the crown They wanted a girl with a giggle for brains,But she was a ghost in Chanel chains.A starlet on fire, flickering bright—Lighting your smokes, not her own right.Yeah, she knew what she was doing—Breathing soft while minds were screwing.She wasn’t naïve, she was nuclear—A blonde bomb with a body they feared Don’t confuse softness with surrender,Or sibilance with lack of agenda.She learned to flirt like war paint,Blew kisses like grenades,And smiled while they turned Her soul into accolades.She bit her lip while they zipped their flies,Read Chekhov naked and memorized lies.They wanted a doll, a mouth, a sigh But she was the truth they couldn’t survive.Hollywood called her Marilyn” cute,But Norma knew what silence could loot.A name wrapped in satin, but honey, she bled—On every stage they said she misled.Studios said, “be sweet, don’t speak.”But she moaned in Monroe, while Norma screamed bleak.She came from foster beds and clawed her fameSo don’t you dare just call her name.You filmed her from the waist down,Then asked why she broke at the crown.She was a daughter, a lover, a wound on repeatNot your fantasy, not your pink-wrapped deceit.They loved her best with nothing on,But never knew where her rage was drawn.Called her a candle in the wind—But she was the fucking match,And they were the sin.They’ll say she shimmered and died too soon—But she didn’t fade, darling.She pulled the moonRight out of your sky And swallowed it whole.With breathy revenge
And a fractured soul.You think she died of pills and pain?Please. She drowned in fame and fucked-up shame.With cameras pointed up her skirt,They missed the girl who died of worth.You want the truth? Here’s her dress—Wrinkled, stained, and one fuck less.She bled for your headlines, gasped on cue,And now she haunts the roles she never got to do.So light your candles, polish your lies—But know this:The girl in white who stood over steam?She saw the cracks.She dreamed in screams.