She's bleeding, she's broken, she's bruised.
Another bedtime story misused,
set stiffly on shelves with documents, papers and pillows.
Another statistic of greed is crawling to bed on her knees,
too drunk to reply to the phone calls and taxes and lies.
Pathetic excuse for a girl, tell me now,
when did you fall?

For all we pretend to care for your well-being,
fix yourself up a new drink of rotted minds under your burning bridge.

You rose through life like the dark,
a shadow where night left its mark,
a reminder of pain and the tears where the blood turned to ice.
Fallen from grace like a leaf
where wind pushed you far from the tree.
The apple there never falls far
but I'm praying for a stronger will.

This is a song for the weak, defined by their own slurred speech.
Mother, if you're listening, these words may be far out of reach.

Alone, you're alone now, afraid of the world you created.
Home, no home now,
a heart is a haven of freedom when you learned to speak.
Mother, if you're listening, these words may be far out of reach.

I hope you can trust me to remind you the truth of wine's wealth.
At the end of the day, you've done this to yourself.