For all your diamonds. For all your teardrops. For your worry. For your pain. For your sweetness and your kindness. We all end up the same. For all your madness. For all your riches. For your beauty. For your fame. For your heartbreak and your loneliness. We all end up the same. You have such pretty eyes. How many told you so? How many kissed your perfect lips and melted like the snow? Oh, you've spent so long in make-up that the mirror knows your name. But come the final judgement, we all end up the same. You hope they hoist the statues. You hope they cry for days. But fade the wreath of Eustoma that withers on your grave. For all your standing. For your ascension. For all the letters that follow your name. No-one gets a pardon. We all end up the same.