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    I remember Monica
    At the US Open
    She mighta been 16
    Couldn't've been much more
    Answering some questions
    And giggling, I'd never seen
    Someone so alive on TV before
    Do you remember Monica
    Shrieking on her backhand
    Disguising herself as she went out at night
    Coloring her hair
    Like someone 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 again?
    And then, did everyone who came 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 may 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 will have to pay for our sins

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