Lyrics

She's eleven years old, slams her bedroom door and cries
Unlocks her diary and writes a few lines
Paints a flower in the margin and with hearts she dots her i's
Her poem is a page and a half and nothing rhymes

Yeah, but she's got her own kind of cool

She's against the war, she loves her Mom and Dad
All they ever wanted for her was more than they had
But she was always half content with just a pencil and a pad
Ain't there always something 'bout sweet that's sad?

She's lonely, lonely and brokenhearted
But she's got her own kind of cool
She's lonely, lonely and brokenhearted

Soon she's 23 years old, climbing the ladder of dreams
Wears her panties up high over low-cut jeans
Straps on an acoustic guitar and like Jim Morrison, leans
Steps up to the microphone and screams

Lonely and broken
She's got some kink, and her own kind of cool
She's lonely, lonely and brokenhearted

What hell tears apart
Faith, time and art and blind luck
Will put back together

Take in the outside, baby, let the inside out
Take all our silence baby, turn it into the shouts
Of a million voices waiting, stuck in a trance
Then crawling, talking, falling, walking,
Let's see you make 'em dance