Munching on new foliage of mulberry,
I fell asleep on the tattoo artist's chair.
And awakened to a rude change.
I've lost those curves and all my pretty feet.
My appetite's not the same.
I can't stand to chat with those sissy coloured flowers,
With so many annoying boys flitting around.
They say I've transformed into art on wings,
But I just want to go back to my cocoon.
Metamorphosis, my ass! It's the tattoo guy's fault.
I'm pretty sure I didn't ask for a blue Jesus on my lower back.