So let her stomach leak onto the floor
Her mummy would cry if she knew
Her only daughter was a junkie
She worked all week, and all night
To space out under some flashing lights
And they stare at her as she walks down the street
She pulls her jumper over her arms
A little facade for those nuisance track marks
She sure loves the devil
She sure loves a hit
She loves every moment of inebriation
Every minute of that hit
So if she wants to inject
At the signal of the weeks end
Who are we to judge. Her stomach aches
A bitter taste on her tongue
No point in crying, over a grave already dug.
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