she wasn't born
in that brothel i'm
told well aware of where she was well
aware of where she'd end up in what
position dressed in red down on her knees
she'd done this sort of thing before
choaking back on this disease dressed
to kill to die for her pretty face hides
the demons inside
the kind that haunt her
in her sleep she was found face down in
that ditch her skirt hiked up dressed
in red down on her knees she'd done this
sort of thing before make up chases the
tears down her face the handprints left
on her throat he hits her she'd ask for
more he hits her she'd ask for...