Wild Child has the bite of the bark,

Dressed in leather, blends into the dark,,

She's comes with a capital T,

Always the Troubled One,

But she always says she has such fun.
.

.

Where are you going out tonight?

My Troubled Child, My Rock?

Going back to your den of deadly drinks?

(Or gone for a bit of c**k?)

Go, shut the door, and switch on the locks.

.

.

A sniff there and a tall drink here,

A few needles here and there,

Anything can go straight

Into your delicate body,

My Wild Child, My Dear.

.

.

Messy room and messy head,

Drugs taken hold with flying shapes,

You can't take it anymore, can you?

Heart pounding, you've got the shakes,

My Wild Child, My Dear.

.

.

It will all be over soon you say,

Keep telling yourself that,

As another shot plunges

Into your arm's bloodstream,

My Wild Child, My Dear.

Where is My Wild Child?

.

.

Did she say when she was coming back?

Or is she still in the crazy depths,

Of the hurtful descending black?

My Poor Wild Child, My Dear.