She looks pretty good in blue, she's worn it out a lot. You look good on paper too, when actually you're not. She's not looking anymore for someone to feel sorry for, so don'cha come 'round no more. She's got pretty fake eyelashes, slanted plastic glasses, everyone who passes says she looks beautiful. But don't even think about asking her to dance 'cause in your sackcloth and ashes, you're never gonna have a chance. Sackcloth and ashes. She smeared you with her fingerprints just because she could. She's not sorry for her sins as long as she looks good. How can she have so much fun knowing all the things she's done? She's bad, she's strong, or maybe she's stupid.
But she's got pretty party dresses, manic panic tresses. She believes that less is more where you're concerned, and you can only dream about the places that she's been. 'Cause in your sackloth and ashes, they're never gonna let you in. One day maybe you'll be way beyond this silly habit you've put on. Tough and strong enough and wrong and wrong enough for long enough to belong there. But till that day comes along, you'll be sullen and regretful, querelous and fretful, carrying a head full of evil thoughts. And there'll be lots of girls and people who want to know where you stand. But in your sackcloth and ashes, you'll never make them understand...sackcloth and ashes, sackcloth and ashes, sackcloth and ashes, they're never gonna understand.