Lyrics by Chris Cornell
  Music by Kim Thayil
    All of seventeen
  Eyes a purple green
  Treated like a Queen, she was
  On borrowed self esteem
      She would do a dance
  A painful masquerade
  Spinning you into her web
  Along her vain parade
      In her uniform
  Studded brass and steel
  Kissing lipstick, napkin stains
  And smearing sincerity
      Along her vain parade
  Along her veins
      Time crept up on her
  SheĄŻs early gray
  Her reflection looks concerned
  As flowers hit her grave