Her body is a temple buried underneath lahar and regret
Her love is a garden unattended and left to burn
Her eyes are a midnight sky dominated by rainclouds
Her happiness is dictated by a bottle and Marlboro Reds
Her heart is an old love song grown bitter to the ear
She has no regard for herself
With no one to worship her temple
To tend to her garden
To gaze upon her sky
To replace her vice with virtue
To sing her song