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They said in her younger days |
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Her beauty was enough to drive men wild |
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But the hunger in her body then |
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Was not the hunger of some lonely child. |
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Like a butterfly in springtime |
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Searching every field for loving's sweetest rose |
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The embrace of many strangers |
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Still could not release her from the hold. |
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In the backstreets and the bedrooms |
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All she's found is disappointments bitterly |
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While the love that she's too often found |
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Was enough to satisfy her needs. |
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She's older than the years she holds |
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And ageing fast with each day passing by |
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On a downhill run to nowhere |
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'Cause the hunger never can be satisfied. |
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The reflection in her mirror's not the image |
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She remembers in her mind |
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Her beauty has been eaten by the hunger |
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And the acid winds of time. |
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She has danced the tune her demons played |
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And payed the piper dearly for his song |
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Empty now of all her pride but still inside |
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Her hunger's just as strong. |
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They said in her younger days |
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Her beauty was enough to drive men wild |
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But the hunger in her body then |
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Was not the hunger of some lonely child... |