She traces a head on her pillow with a feather
And dances through piles of unopened letters
Just to call the overgrown garden her own
Hasn't planted a flower or seed there for years
Stayed skinny on cigarettes and sane on beer
That she paid for with a turned-down loan

As the radio drowns out the knocking at the door
And a pair of greedy arms pulls her down to the floor
She gets all that she's asking for
He's all that she asked for
But I know she deserves more

She calls for her mother at the grave, early morning
Dressed only in black, in debt to her mourning
And the guilt that won't go away
Thoughts drift to her father, alone in the hills,
And the man who demands her at home where she kills
The day, where she kills the day

As the radio drowns out the knocking at the door
And a pair of greedy arms pulls her down to the floor
She gets all that she's asking for
He's all that she asked for
But I know she deserves more

Gotta breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out, breathe

(sever the burden, she's urged on a Sunday
by a woman in white, who she tells she will, someday
but who's the one to fall? it's a long way down from the second floor
the cheap gold ring locked tight round her finger
refuses to leave as the pregnant summer lingers
on and on)

She still traces a head on her pillow with a feather
And dances through piles of unopened letters
Whispering softly that she deserves better
Doesn't she deserve better?