Rembrandt.

You made an image for yourself,
Nothing but a case full of lies,
the only thing you've got left of your face,
Is one that Rembrandt paints out of nasty flies.

You think you're so sly,
but you're really just disillusioning yourself.
I can see right through you,
you're nothing but a piece of trash forgotten on a shelf.

The pieces that I put together all seem clear now,
the painting of your face,
what once was so great,
is now a disgrace.