She works in a bakery for minimum wage.
Sometimes she feels trapped inside of a cage.
Her beaten, wounded heart is still bleeding,
For love, for life she is pleading.
She makes a pathetic Cinderella,
Scrubbing linoleum floors at night.
No pumpkin coach, no glass slippers;
Her fairy tale story isn’t happening right.
Pathetic Cinderella.
At night she enters dreamland, hoping to catch a glimpse
Of her wonderful, charming, idea of a prince.
She knows when she wakes it’ll all disappear;
Alone and empty, she’ll wipe away the tears.
She makes a pathetic Cinderella,
Longing for her prince at night.
No mice, no godmother, no hope of redemption.
Her fairy tale story isn’t happening right.
Pathetic, hopeless, lonely Cinderella.
She wishes there was a magic wand
To wave her troubles away; she’s standing at the edge of a cliff.
It’s past midnight, and her chance is gone.
It was never there to begin with.
Her fairy tale story isn’t happening right,
Pathetic Cinderella
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