Flower

All of seventeen
Eyes a purple green
Treated like a Queen, she was
On borrowed self esteem

She would do a dance
A painful masquerade
Spinning you into her web
Along her vain parade

In her uniform
Studded brass and steel
Kissing napkin, lipstick stains
And smearing sincerity

Along her vain parade
Along her veins

Time crept up on her
She's an early grey
Her reflection looks concerned
As flowers hit her grave



Credits
Writer(s): Chris J. Cornell, Kim A. Thayil
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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