wearing a string of fairies around her neckntells me she's gone and nothing will bring her backnwhether the future's bright or we're out of luckndon't try to argue much she won't give a fucknshe's dyingnshe's dyingnshe's dyingnshe's dyingnpack a few things and put on your strangest dressnwhere we're all going none of us could care lessnhitting the road as hard as a gypsy canndon't even ask we don't even have a plannand as her skin rips off and her bones poke throughnstrange as her beauty grows she won't have a cluensoles of her feet worn down but she stretches onnsmaller she grows but will she ever be gonenshe's dyingnshe's dyingnshe's dyingnshe's dyingnpack a few things and string up your rings and beadsnsick of the war and other disgraceful deedsnhitting the road as hard as the dying canndon't even as we don't even have a plan