We find our songs
In fashion magazines
We read the story
In the morning paper

I touch their hearts
And they touch my skin
I'm on your screen
And you are just so wide

Put us on display
For everyone to see
We write the words
For all to understand

Though I get my kicks
It's slowly wasting me
Don't try to be an artist
I try to be a man

Dead stars still burn
Dead still stars burn

We find ourselves
In pictures on the net
Blinded by science
Addicted to devotion

I'm in your hold
eager to abuse
My favourite game
I suffer from misuse

I just want to know
The man in front of them
To read their minds
For me to understand

Though I get my kicks
It's slowly wasting me
Don't try to be an artist
I try to be a man

Won't find Zed's bras
In fashion magazines
Cos they are bigger
Than the morning papers

They cross her heart
And cover miles of skin
Till they're undone
By this big geend called Bryn

Her breasts are on display
For everyone to see
She can't buy clothes
The shops don't understand

She's a thirty six
Thirty six double D
Don't want to be a stripper
She'd rather be a man

Zed's bras don't burn
Bras burn, Zed's don't.

You won't see Zed
In pictures on the net
Because her breasts
Take up entire photos

Bryn likes to hold them
Eager to abuse
His favourite game
They suffer from misuse

Zed wants to tell
The man in front of them
To read her mind
For him to understand

She's a thirty six
Thirty six double D
Don't want to be a stripper
She'd rather be a man