I am the Very Scalpel of a Velvet Renovationist

[Verse 1 – Fast, theatrical] I am the very scalpel of a velvet renovationist, A surgeon with precision and a flair for restorationist. I graft with charm, I slice with grace, I hex with grand bravado, I've redefined the human face from Hades to El Dorado. I turn the flaws that haunt your skin to symphonies of symmetry, Replace your lips with serpent's smiles or mimic aristocracy. From scars to souls, from frowns to foes, I twist and stitch with passion— And I can graft a demon's grin into the latest fashion! --- [Chorus – Swing beat, backing vocals repeat key phrases] Snip snip! Cut and clip! Let the magic start to drip! Velvet skin and sharpened bone, Leave your old face all alone! In the room of silk and flame, I take your flesh and change your name! --- [Verse 2 – Even faster, manic energy] I’ve done facelifts on lich queens and buttocks for war criminals, Botox brewed from banshee tears and lashes made from tentacles. My nose jobs charm the cursed and damned, my cheekbones turn the tide— A rebel walked in crying, left a monarch’s trophy bride! I once stitched lips upon a prince that whispered truths too bitter, He paid in bulkets, blood, and bones—his soul now feeds my glitter. A widow came to mourn her loss, I carved her with finesse— Now every man she kisses dies, and still she leaves a mess. --- [Chorus – More dramatic] Slice and sew, and hum a tune, With a scalpel blessed by bloodied moon! Breathe in steam, exhale regret— You haven’t seen what beauty gets! In the Velvet Room I reign— I trade your shame for sculpted pain! --- [Bridge – Spoken/sung, slower, eerie build] I sculpt the desperate, rich, and cursed The beauty-blind, the fame-immersed You beg for curves, I gift you grace But sometimes… I just steal your face Each needle hums with ghostly hands Each scalpel sings of old demands They scream within the skin I peel The body lies—the mirror feels… --- [Verse 3 – Back to patter, sharp] I’m licensed in aesthetics and in rituals infernal, My mirrors don’t reflect you—they predict your fate eternal. My waiting room’s upholstered with discarded bits of “flair”— If you sit too long, you may not leave with matching hair. I cater to the Madam’s guests, her soldiers, girls, and ghosts, Assassins with their noses fixed, or diplomats turned hosts. Each mark I make is elegant, precise, and mostly fatal— And I can turn your lower back into a sacred cradle. --- [Chorus – Aggressive & pulsing] Slice by slice, and bone by bone, I chisel down what you disown! Veins like lace, and skin like glass— I’ll make you smile… then let it pass! Magic hums inside my blades— No refunds once the beauty fades! --- [Verse 4 – Slower, final verse, intense & theatrical] Some call me monster, freak, or worse—"a butcher dressed in fashion" But I see pain and shape it clean, my art is born of passion My clients weep beneath my touch, but oh—how they awaken! Their lives before me pale and grey. Their wills… delightfully shaken. I do not ask for love or praise, I do not crave confession— I only seek that silent gasp when you behold perfection. So if your face offends your soul and mirrors bring you dread— Just knock thrice on the Velvet Room… I'll raise you from the dead. --- [Final Chorus – Full force, choir-style backing] Snip snip! Cut and clip! Let the wicked shadows drip! Hexed with glam and stitched with grace— You’ll never miss your old disgrace! In the heart of skin and spell, I make you beautiful as hell! ... ....