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I remember Monica At the US Open She mighta been 16 Couldn't've been much more Answering some questions And giggling, I'd never seen Someone so alive on TV before Do you remember Monica Shrieking on her backhand Disguising herself as she went out at night Coloring her hair Like someone was telling her Lay low, invisible, and out of sight And then, Monica The blade came, Monica Like God spitting on you, a knife in your back We read it in the paper Then moved on to other things But for you all the colors, fade to black And oh, Monica There you are, Monica On the cross with Jesus and Martin Luther King Just like John Lennon, by that hotel You have to pay for our sins Was it like being raped? Was it like being dead? Like a bad movie over and over again? And then, did everyone who came close to you Suddenly hold a knife in their hand? And now you're back, Monica Grim and hammering Trying not to think about that thing, then And I hope that you win Every medal you can win But it may never be much fun again And oh, Monica There you are, Monica On the cross with Jesus and Martin Luther King Just like John Lennon, by that hotel You have to pay for our sins Just like Jesus, by that hotel You will have to pay for our sins
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