Shooting up junk in the bathroom. Makin’ it with punks on the floor. Livin’ the scene out of her limosine. Little Miss S. in her mini dress — living it up to die in a blink of the public eye. Day-glo paint on an electric chair. Electric dye in her lover’s hair. A pretty light in the middle of the night. Made up for everyone to see. Swingin’ on the branch of a broken family tree. You got a lot of livin’ to do without life. The village idiots in her bed never cared that her eyes were red — never cared that her brain was dead. In the hours that her face was alive it was a thing just to be by her side. You got a lot of livin’ to do without life.
