Hang Me In Wax

Catching A breeze
They hang me in wax
I drip onto the hungry
Fill stomachs
And sing in the way your folks require as lubricant to dance
Put your needle to me and listen to the songs of the sacrificed
Dine around me for romantic effect, listening to the songs of the sacrificed
Catching A breeze
I'm out back with the other idols
Left to go bad in the light of scrutiny
Martyrdom at the end of A candle wick noose
Strange fruit, before the sycamore tree held us
Rolling through markets fair
A waxed bad apple
Shared between those who shout loudest, proudest of their sell
Though in the end we wound up back on the branch
That never seemed to reach and connect with the sky
Who housed the scrutiny but the two were not mutually dependent
Is there a backbone below this wax model
What if it's made of marble and shines brightest in leer radiation?
But I never sweated off the soft layers to expose it
Here they hang me in wax
And I relax, this may be necessary.