The clock is a ring on her finger

That she checks

When she's out of time.

The cigarette's a spike

In the spur of the moment

Digging in her side.

She cuts the paper with nails

And her pen is bleeding poetry.

Nervous from the sex that she got

And the wine that she spilled

On her clean,white,white sheets.

Like to see you,baby,

All torn up inside.

Girl you're dead already

So just let your ego die.

Girl you're dead already

So just let your ego die.

Die,die,die.