There's a gun to her head, held by her hand
And she's dancing in the pouring rain.
Head thrown back, laughing at God
She's a little out of touch, a little insane.
There's a painted smile on her painted lips
And unshed tears shine brightly in her eyes.
Somewhere deep inside her something's lost,
The will to live, the strength to fight.
She's tired of the sun and she's tired of life
And she just can't pretend any longer.
And the people with umberellas, running from the rain,
Take a moment from their lives to watch her.
As she waltzes in the rain with an imaginary lover,
With a gun to her head, held by her hand.
And a golden bullet to end her life
She's alughing because they don't understand.
Then with a shot, the laughter stops
She crumples to the concrete devoid of pain,
Blood surrounds her as the Heavens cry
A little out of touch, a little insane.

8/6/00