Lyrics by chris cornell

Music by kim thayil



All of seventeen

Eyes a purple green

Treated like a queen, she was

On borrowed self esteem



She would do a dance

A painful masquerade

Spinning you into her web

Along her vain parade



In her uniform

Studded brass and steel

Kissing lipstick, napkin stains

And smearing sincerity



Along her vain parade

Along her veins



Time crept up on her

She's early gray

Her reflection looks concerned

As flowers hit her grave