She's got a piano made of sky,
Requiems wrought from her heart.
She's desperate not to fall apart,
Because she's barely getting by.

Dreams can't pay the rent,
And when the roof is caving in,
All the life and strength within
Still turned joy into lament.

Golden notes spin through the air,
A beneficial benediction.
Her two-faced, honey-laced addiction,
She's just living off of prayer.

The tunnel's light's grown dark and cold,
The requiems had once been melody,
But her art is not a remedy,
For a piano made of sky now sold.

She had music made of sky,
Singing sweet honey-heroin songs,
And the world is full of wrongs
Because she'll never get by.