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She looks pretty good in blue she's worn it out a lot. You look good on
paper too when actually you're not. She's not looking anymore for
someone to feel sorry for so don'cha come round no more. She's got
pretty fake eye-lashes, slanted plastic glasses. Everyone who passes
says she looks beautiful. But don't even think about asking her to dance
cause in your sackcloth and ashes you're never gonna have a chance.
Sackcloth and ashes. She smeared you with her fingerprints just because
she could. She's not sorry for her sins as long as she looks good. How
can she have so much fun knowing all the things she's done. She's bad,
she's strong, or maybe she's stupid. But she's got pretty party dresses,
manic-panic tresses. She believes that less is more where you're
concerned. And you can only dream about the places that she's been cause
in your sackcloth and ashes they're never gonna let you in. One day
maybe you'll be way beyond this silly habit you've put on. Though and
strong enough and wrong and wrong enough for long enough to belong
there. But till that day comes along you'll be sullen and regretful
querulous and fretful carrying a head full of evil thoughs and there'll
be lots of girls and people who want to know where you stand but in your
sackcloth and ashes you'll never make them understand. Sackcloth and
ashes. Sackcloth and ashes. Sackcloth and ashes. They're never gonna
understand.
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