So you finally got what you wanted,
You've achieved your aim by making the walking lame,
And when you just can't get any higher,
You use your senses to suss out this week's climber,
And the small fame that you've acquired,
Has brought you into cult status but to me you're still a collector.

There's tarts and whores but you're much more,
You're a different kind 'cause you want their minds,
And you just don't care 'cause you've got no brains,
It's just a face on your pillowcase that thrills you.

And you've started looking much older,
And you're fashion sense is second rate like your perfume,
But to you in your own little dream world,
You're still the queen of the butterfly collectors.

You carry on 'cause it's all you know,
You can't light a fire, you can't cook or sew,
You get from day to day by filling your head,
But you surely must know the thrill between your legs has worn off.

And I don't care about morals,
'Cause the world's insane and we're all to blame anyway,
And I don't feel any sorrow,
Towards the kings and queens of the butterfly collectors.

There's tarts and whores but you're much more,
You're a different kind 'cause you want their minds,
And you just don't care 'cause you've got no brains,
It's just a face on your pillowcase that thrills you.

You carry on 'cause it's all you know,
You can't light a fire, you can't cook or sew,
You get from day to day by filling your head,
But you surely must know the thrill between your legs has worn off.

And I don't feel any sorrow,
Towards the kings and queens of the butterfly collectors.