I remember Monica at the US Open
She might've been 16, couldn't have 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
Was disguising herself, as she went out at night
Coloring her hair, like something 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 and 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 have to pay for our sins
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