Paris in the spring

no, it doesn't get better
even if you visit Paris in the spring

it never meant a thing
you skinny little bitch
doing coke-a-cola in a junkie ditch

yeah, i wanna know whos' smoke
is hanging between your lips
hungry to please your hips

but you're cold

looking for some heat
taking everyone new you meet
but leaving them for dead

well, i ain't going down
into that coal black town

i'm looking for a piece of air
and i won't find it there

so sorry there's a needle in your head
but it's not my stick

you're making me sick
lashing whip on a hard afternoon
coming again but way too soon

no, it doesn't get better
even if you visit Paris in the spring

it never meant a thing
you skinny little bitch
doing coke-a-cola in a junkie ditch

kicking a habit out the door

thinking nevermore

yeah, i wanna know whos' tattoo
is on your ass smeared in blue

their name outlined in red
and i wonder what was said

and i wonder how you felt
as you watched his rocket melt?

did you crawl away with the score
or turn around to ask for more?

so sorry you've lost track of time
you once were a friend of mine

but i couldn't change your tune

anytime late or soon

no, it doesn't get better
even if you visit Paris in the spring

you can't remember anything