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She looks pretty good in blue |
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She's worn it out a lot |
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You look good on paper too |
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When actually you're not |
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She's not looking anymore |
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For someone to feel sorry for |
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So don'cha 'round no more |
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She's got pretty fake eyelashes |
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Slanted plastic glasses |
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Everyone who passes |
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Says she looks beautiful |
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But don't even think about |
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Asking her to dance |
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'Cause in your sackcloth and ashes |
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You're never gonna have a chance |
|
Sackcloth and ashes... |
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She smeared you with her fingerprints |
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Just because she could |
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She's not sorry for her sins |
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As long as she looks good |
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How can she have so much fun |
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Knowing all the things she's done? |
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She's bad |
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She's strong |
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Or maybe she's stupid |
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But she's got pretty party dresses |
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Manic-panic tresses |
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She believes that less is more |
|
Where you're concerned |
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But you can only dream about |
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The places that she's been |
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'Cause in your sackcloth and ashes |
|
They're never gonna let you in |
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One day, maybe, you'll be way beyond |
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This silly habit you've put on |
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Tough and strong enough |
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And wrong, and wrong enough |
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For long enough |
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To belong there |
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But 'til that day comes along |
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You'll be sullen and regretful |
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Querulous and fretful |
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Carrying a head full |
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Of evil thoughts |
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And there'll be lots of girls and people |
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Who want to know where you stand |
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But in your sackcloth and ashes |
|
You'll never make them understand |
|
Sackcloth and ashes |
|
Sackcloth and ashes |
|
Sackcloth and ashes |
|
They're never gonna understand |
