Severed fingernails beneath the teeth she bites them with,   A silver bangle dangling from her wrist.   Knuckles white and hard from years of smoking cigarettes,   She doesn't have that long (I think you get the gist)      She's a sinker,   On a fishing wire.      She's this crooked little easel of a girl,   Clumps of hair they tear and fall about the place.   And when she smiles (which isn't often, and it takes a while)   It's like her lips against the grain of her face.      She's a sinker,   And she's cast away.      She has a name because her mother called her Toblerone,   She has a dog which she just calls Dog.   And when it yelps it coughs and splutters through the living room,   And wades its way into the niccotene fog.      She's a sinker,   She's a sinker,   She's a sinker,      And she's sinking down,      Here.