A Mannequin Story

I just want to be a mannequin
I just want to be a mannequin
No bones that ache, no bleeding flesh
Something human enough to hold a pen
Press plastic fingers to a maple neck
Bronze strings stretched over steel frets
A hollow body of emptiness
Where nothing would ever hurt again
I just want to be a mannequin
I just want to be a mannequin
And I'd make art even after the world collapsed
It would all blow up or burn to ash
And I would remain among the scrap
My faceless face of fiberglass
To roam the rubbles of cities past
A thousand signs of noble gas
Post-apocalyptic cul-de-sacs
Now entering: Ozymandias
Round the decay of that colossal wreck
I'd walk a hundred million steps
Paint stories on the walls and then
Write ballads recounting all of it
Create until I turned to dust
More art than the sum of all of us
With no one left to make sense of
The stories I wrote or the songs I sung
I just want to lose me
I just want to lose me
I just want to lose me
I just want to lose me
In whatever way I can