Farewell Fed To The Fire
I think you know we're running out of time, you've started dressing up
The mood is ruined by the cheapest wine that's spilling on your skirt
She's dressed to kill - I hope this was within her will - her body's still
Moved north from new york, but the city lights are tugging at her soul
Served whisky to the drunks that haunt the night, her life is getting old
She wanted more than he could fake, but I was standing beside her
Trading the life she loved for something less, the guilt is setting in
Paying the bills by taking off her dress, the pressure's worn her thin
Pop the pills to nullify the stress, it's showing through her skin
She bit off more than she could take, and now she's fed to the fire
Soft as the petal
Tough as the thorn
