I wrote another song about a girl I know called Kuko. I read this back without playing the music with it and it sounds like god awful poetry when read out loud. I think that means it's also god awful lyrics but it's only my second go and it's a work in progress. And it fits the music so shut it.

Poor Kuko

Kuko she loves to play dress up she loves to play rough.
She thinks that tattoos and piercings make her look tough.
Leather and PVC dresses are one of her loves.
But we know that inside she’s broken,  just wants to be loved.

The scars on your arms just tell us that you
Want us to know what you’ve been through.
The drugs, the drink, the way that you think
Is not the real Kuko
Black lines down your cheek and blood on your lips,
But you still demand a kiss.
Oh please poor Kuko.

She admits with a grin that her act has worn thin
But its all a game to her one that she can’t  win.
She’s lost the dice, she’s lost the board
and no one wants to play her anymore.
She’s losing her way, she’s all burned out,
I don’t know what you’re all about.

The scars on your arms just tell us that you
Want us to know what you’ve been through.
The drugs, the drink, the way that you think
Is not the real Kuko
Black lines down your cheek and blood on your lips,
But you still demand a kiss.
Oh please poor Kuko.