She lights a candle to the black Madonna
She don’t care now what the Baptists think
She wants something a whole lot stronger
Than a cross hanging on a chain
She wears the ink of a sparrow
On the hand that holds a match
Her words sparkle like flint and silver
She sings as soft as dust and ash
Too young ripe, too young rotten
Needles and tread, linin and cotton
May my sins be forgotten
Too young ripe, too young rotten
She feels more years than she has lived
As she hangs her jeans on the bedpost
She shares her breath now only with the darkness
She owns a wilder heart than most
Too young ripe, too young rotten
Needles and tread, linin and cotton
May my sins be forgotten
Too young ripe, too young rotten