It was blacker than blacknA deep endless shadenTo wake us from our shallow trancenOn blankness it preyednLike a shadow distracting our misguided eyesnTo complicate beautynTo un-mesmerizennIt may have been the last hope for our poor empty soulsnEnrique Iglesias’ molennIt was smaller than smallnBut not small enoughnIt didn’t make him more prettynIt didn’t make him more toughnSo someone with an ugly heart must’ve made a fussnNow it’s gone forevernWhat will become of us?nnIt may have been the last hope for our poor empty soulsnEnrique Iglesias’ molennCause he worshipped the mirrornAnd the sun on his facenHe got all the girls dancing with a cancerous gracenBut if he was our hero as he promised he could benThen he’d still be imperfectnJust like you and mennIt may have been the last hope for our poor empty soulsnEnrique Iglesias’ molenYou can’t have a diamond if there is no lump of coalnEnrique Iglesias’ molenThe sun has just exploded and become a big, black holenEnrique Iglesias’ mole