I remember Monica, at the U.S. Open
Might have been sixteen, couldn't have been much more
Answering some questions and giggling
I'd never seen someone so alive on T.V. before
Do you remember Monica, screeching on her backhands?
Disguising herself when she went out at night?
Coloring her hair like something was telling her
Lay low, invisible and out of sight
And then Monica the blade, came Monica
Like God spitting on you, a knife in your back
We read it in the paper then moved on to other things
But for you all the colors fade to black
And oh Monica, there you are Monica
On the cross with Jesus and Martin Luther King
Just like John Lennon by that hotel, you have to pay for our sins
Was it like being raped? Was it like being dead?
Like a bad movie over and over and over again
And then did everyone who got close to you
Suddenly hold a knife in their hand
And now you're back Monica, grim and hammering
Trying not to think about that thing then
And I hope that you win every medal you can win
But it might never be much fun again
And oh Monica, there you are Monica
On the cross with Jesus and Martin Luther King
Just like John Lennon by that hotel, you have to pay for our sins
Just like Jesus by that hotel, you have to pay for our sins
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