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I think you know we're running out of time, you've started dressing up The mood is ruined by the cheapest wine that's spilling on your skirt She's dressed to kill - I hope this was within her will - her body's still Moved north from new york, but the city lights are tugging at her soul Served whisky to the drunks that haunt the night, her life is getting old She wanted more than he could fake, but I was standing beside her Trading the life she loved for something less, the guilt is setting in Paying the bills by taking off her dress, the pressure's worn her thin Pop the pills to nullify the stress, it's showing through her skin She bit off more than she could take, and now she's fed to the fire Soft as the petal Tough as the thorn
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