She’s a hard little girl, mister.
For she was born from a cold water womb.
And she likes her hard rock candy, mister-
all cooked up in a spoon.

So light up a candle for her, mister-
and I surely don’t mean in prayer.
She’s got a monkey on her back now, mister-
and she takes it with her everywhere.

Living for the thrill of the needle, mister-
pierced her soul as surely the vein.
And now there’s no hope for her, mister.
For she’s surely gone insane.

Copyright © 2000. Heather Bahnmaier. All Rights Reserved.

National Institute on Drug Abuse