Blue
With dents from my kicks
My punching bag

Cylinder-shaped
Scuffed with marks from my hands
My punching bag

How can one device contain so much of me?

We all thought we knew the real Cinderella,
Things like her having to live in the cold, dusty cellar.
I know my discovery will be hard to believe,
But I also know once you read it, you'll soon be relieved.

The whole story is turned around, you see,
I heard it all from the radio, so thank them, not me!
Cinderella was young and beautiful, that's true,
But you don't know the other half, do you?

Her dad's wife died, he married another,
She finally had a wonderful mother.
She was not gorgeous, but rarely mean,
All Cinderella ever did was have her clean, clean clean.

And whenever the end of the day got near ,
Her mom would wind up doing something like wiping more mirrors.
Cinderella's father soon died of a sudden heart attack,
He never had to see what was happening behind his back.

Then one day, Cinderella got invited to a ball,
While her stepmom vacuumed the roof, trying not to fall.
She went up and got ready, hoped it wasn't too late,
But little did she know, she was nearing her fate.

Her fairy godmother was waiting (this is a good part),
Not in a car, but in a big, shiny cart.
She knew what Cinderella had been doing to her mom,
It felt like in her heart had been set a huge bomb.

She decided not to help her, she was too awfully mean,
She turned Cinderella's car into a measly little bean.
Cinderella had to walk, yes, in the middle of May,
Wondering, "What happened to my car? Did it just blow away?"

By the time that girl had gotten there,
It was half past three,
She lived happily ever after,
No more "Me, me, me."