Miranda

Little Miranda was a little girl,
Until that boy came and changed her world,
She’s still little,
But all grown up,
Her hearts’ so brittle,
And it wants to give up.

There’s a baby on her hips,
Oh how he cries,
She can’t make him stop,
No matter how hard she tries.

There ain’t enough food for his little mouth,
And that boy’s gone,
Probably down south,
Avoiding the life that’s half his own,
Leaving little Miranda and her baby to wail and moan.

The deserts’ hot,
And it’ll swallow you whole,
It’s three feet from hell,
And it’ll steal your soul,
If you’re lucky you might see the sky,
But it’s damn near impossible to leave unless you die.

Now little Miranda’s working five to nine,
She’s an old woman before her time,
She’s trying to keep straight,
And lord she’s tryin’,
But her hearts’ so full of hate,
That her soul is dyin’.

Now that old deserts’ lickin’ its lips,
Waiting for her to make that final slip,
That old desert wants to swallow her whole,
Cause Lord she’s close to losin’ her soul.
It’s handin’ her a crystal,
It ain’t no diamond ring,
It may leave her empty,
But how she’ll sing,
That five to nine won’t seem so bad,
And she’ll soon forget about that life she had.

That boy returns,
He wants to be a man,
Sayin’ it’ll all be great,
‘Cause he’s got a plan,
But it’s far too late,
The baby’s dead and buried,
And soon across that old river,
Miranda, she’ll be ferried.

She’ll disappear, in a puff,
Once the desert’s had fun enough,
She’ll be dressed in second hand clothes  ,
And put in a box,
They’ll say it’s hard knocks,
And there won’t be a single rose,
To mark the grave,
Of the one they kicked to the curb,
And all the people will say,
“What’d you expect from a girl like her?”

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