| She yells, «If you were homeless, sure as hell you’d be drunk
|
| Or high or trying to get there or begging for junk
|
| When the people don’t want you
|
| They just throw you money for beer»
|
| Her name was November
|
| She went by Autumn or Fall
|
| It was 7 long years since the Autumn when
|
| All of her nightmares grew fingers and
|
| All of her dreams grew a tear
|
| She’s somebody’s baby
|
| Somebody’s baby girl
|
| She’s somebody’s baby
|
| Somebody’s baby girl
|
| And she’s somebody’s baby still
|
| She screams, «Well, if you’ve never gone it alone
|
| Well, then go ahead, you better throw the first stone
|
| You got one lonely stoner
|
| Waiting to bring to her knees»
|
| She dreams about heaven, remembering hell
|
| As a nightmare she visits and knows all too well
|
| Every now and again, when she’s sober, she brushes her teeth
|
| She’s somebody’s baby
|
| Somebody’s baby girl
|
| She’s somebody’s baby
|
| Somebody’s baby girl
|
| And she’s somebody’s baby still
|
| Today was her birthday, strangely enough
|
| When the cops found her body at the foot of a bluff
|
| The anonymous caller this morning tipped off the police
|
| They got her ID from her dental remains
|
| The same fillings intact, the same nicotine stains
|
| The birth and the death were both over
|
| With no one to grieve
|
| She’s somebody’s baby
|
| Somebody’s baby girl
|
| She’s somebody’s baby
|
| Somebody’s baby girl
|
| And she’s somebody’s baby still
|
| She’s somebody’s baby still |