Ugly duckling, ugly duckling, Where are you, where are you? Wading onwards, wading onwards, I've lost sight of you I know what you've done, know what you've done, Copying and cutting and pasting Your feathers are not your own You've donned a down of a superficial glow And your beak glistens with insincere shine You are not you, but patchwork project A stitched together mass of ink, gems, and alterations The ducklings look on as the ugly other struggles Floundering, wailing, quacking, drowning All parties are silent and silenced Yet the ugly one survives, for now Oh, you, who used to be my little cygnet, Who mistook yourself for a duckling, must know You are better and perfect and real But not really Because even as a swan you hate yourself and peer into your watery reflection and cannot understand these expectations and lies You quack the right things and fluff the right feathers, But here we are The pretty broken swan, still an ugly duckling