| She was born to a city of street cars and secrets
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| In search of something, a boy or a witness
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| She was an empress with a vulgar bravado
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| She worshipped plastic prophets
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| She knew the comedy of a necktie
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| And the silky lightness
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| Of expensive fabrics
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| She traded blood for sugar
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| She’s trading blood for sugar
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| She tiptoes as her lovers sleep
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| An awkward man with a whiskey weakness
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| And her tears turned to opals and pearls
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| And she threads them onto a silver cord
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| And her mattress has secrets
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| A tuxedo, a promise
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| A ceremony, a compromise…
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| She traded blood for sugar
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| She’s trading blood for sugar…
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| She was embarrassed by her paint and her sequins
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| And the vocabulary of motel rooms
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| And her mattress has secrets
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| She traded blood for sugar
|
| She’s trading blood for sugar… |