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...