She's a pretty little thing walking the streets alone.
Once, she had the world in the palm of her hand.
She let it all go.

Now she wears a smile that doesn't reach her eyes,
A heart filled up with deadened dreams.
She does whatever it takes to pay her bills and buy her pills.

Another night with another man.
Waking up alone feeling bruised, abused and broken,
Drowning in cheap wine, doing another line.
There is no love in her life, and as she holds her head in her hands,
The tears of emptiness, loneliness and sadness stream down her pretty face.