She lights a candle to the black Madonna She don't care now what the Baptists think She wants something a whole lot stronger Than a cross hanging on a chain She wears the ink of a sparrow On the hand that holds a match Her words sparkle like flint and silver She sings as soft as dust and ash Too young ripe, too young rotten Needles and tread, linin and cotton May my sins be forgotten Too young ripe, too young rotten She feels more years than she has lived As she hangs her jeans on the bedpost She shares her breath now only with the darkness She owns a wilder heart than most Too young ripe, too young rotten Needles and tread, linin and cotton May my sins be forgotten Too young ripe, too young rotten